r 
e^c--c. 


COMEDIES. 

• 


BY 


GEORGE    H.    CALVERT. 


BOSTON: 

PHILLIPS,    SAMPSON    &   CO. 
1856. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856, 

By  GEORGE  H.  CALVERT, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  in  and  for 
the  District  of  Rhode  Island.  ' 


SAVAGE  &  MOCREA,  STEREOTYPEHS, 

13  Chambers  Street,  N.  T. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY— 

A  COMEDY  IN  FIVE  ACTS .    .    .    PAGE  5 

LIKE  UNTO  LIKE  — 

A  COMEDY  IN  THREE  ACTS .79 


THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY, 

A.    OOMEIDY, 


IN   FIVE   ACTS. 


PERSONS   EEPRESENTED. 

FERDINAND,  King  of  Syracuse. 

PRINCE  TANCRED,  his  Son. 

COUNT  ROGER,  Friend  of  TANCRED. 

ORONTIO,  Prime  Minister  to  the  King. 

BERNARDO,  a  Priest,   Confessor  to  the  King. 

COUNT  MANFRED,  of  Palermo. 

ALPHONSO, 


.   Gentlemen  of  Syracuse. 
OSMOND,       } 

CONRAD  o,  Steward  of  the  Palace. 
PRINCESS  MATILDA,  Niece  to  the  King. 
ROSALIE,  Daughter  of  ORONTIO. 
BLANCHE,  Niece  of  ORONTIO. 
BARBARA,  maid  to  ROSALIE. 

Chamberlain,  Messenger,  Captain,  Herald,  Attendants. 

Time — In  the  Fifteenth  Century. 

Scene — SYRACUSE,  except  the  jirst  Scene  of  the  first  Act, 
which  is  near  NAPLES. 


THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY, 


ACT  I. 

SCENE   I. 
A  Grove  near  Naples.. 

TANCRED  and  ROGER. 

TANCRED.  By  Heaven  !  but  I  could  almost  hate  my  rank, 
That  it  went  nigh  to  rob  me  of  myself. 
Roger,  but  thou — thou  art  not  sociable; 
Or  else  thou  'dst  kept  me  amorous  company, 
And  toward  her  cousin  vented  as  sweet  sighs 
As  I  toward  Rosalie.     Could  I  but  think 
Thou  wast  in  love  :  then  wert  thou  perfect,  whole. 
Knowst  thou  where  joy  and  sorrow  are  akin  ? 

ROGER.  I  know  that  love  is  crafty  at  invention. 

TANG.  I'll  tell  thee.     Parents  are  they  both  of  wisdom. 

ROGER.  Like  Hercles'  labor  'mong  th'  Hesperides, 
Thy  brain  hath  wrought  a  logic  miracle, 
Plucking  such  ponderous  fruit  from  sapless  soil. 


8  THE    WILL    AXD    THE    WAV.  [AcT  I. 

TANC.  Weight  hath  indeed  the  fruit  this  month's  new  joy 
Is  ladeu  with,  being  this  golden  truth ; 
Who  is  a  Prince,  he  can  not  be  a  man. 

HOG.  'Tis  more  than  golden,  'tis  a  royal  truth. 

TANC.  Thy  drift,  Philosopher  1 

HOG.  The  present  will 

Is  absolute  in  Kings  'gainst  fact  and  reason. 

TANC.  Than  this,  reason  ne'er  dug  a  purer  gem. 
For  list : — had  I  not  doffed  the  princely  state, 
Hither  I  had  not  come ;  and  not  come  hither, 
Unblest  had  lived;  my  richest  .vein  umvrought; 
Unblown ;  in  nature's  wisest  page  unschooled  ; 
Undeeded  in  the  fairest  field  of  action ; 
My  life  so  sterile,  that  the  warden,  Death,  , 

Had  found  my  soul  for  skyward  flight  unfledged. 

ROG.  Heigho ! 

TANC.           Best  cause  hast  thou  to  sigh.     Believe  me, 
We  are  but  half  ourselves,  till  in  our  frames 
Love's  soul  is  breathed.     Enlarged  even  thou  shalt  be, 
Transformed, 

ROG.  Into  a  looking-glass,  wherein 

An  amorous  maid  shall  feast  on  her  dear  self. 

TANC.  Truly  a  transformation  to  be  wished. 
Thy  humorous  conceit  doth  aptly  paint 
Love's  joy  and  potency,  whereby  are  we 
Of  grosser  qualities  so  purged,  our  hearts 
Become  of  Angels'  souls  the  lucent  mirrors 
And  blest  reverberants  of  woman's  smiles. 


SCENE  I.]  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY. 

ROG.  Or  frowns. 

TANC.  If  Rosalie  did  ever  frown. 

ROG.  Upon  my  word,  I  never  saw  her  frown. 

TANC.  And  did  she  so,  why  frowns  would  sit  on  her 
Like  clouds  at  molten  eve,  sunned  into  grace, 
Made  beautiful  by  what  they  bask  in. 

ROG.  Thou, 

Meanwhile,  as  faithful  glass — forget  not  that — • 
As  smile  for  smile,  wilt  give  back  frown  for  frown ; 
Whence  the  black  danger,  that  those  doubling  frowns, 
Breeding  as  cloud  doth  cloud  in  angry  weather, 
Heaven's  face  besmirch  with  gusty  grimness, 
Not  to  be  rent  but  by  a  stormful  breach  ; 
And  then,  obsequious  glass,  instead  of  smiles, 
Hot  lightning  and  the  rough-mouthed  thunder  echoes. 
Alas !  too  certain  'tis,  as  smile  to  smile, 
And  frown  to  frown,  love  leads  to  matrimony. 

TANC.  Now  I  suspect  thee.    Thou  dost  never  flout 
At  aught  thyself  hast  not  a  part  in.     Come, 
Confess. 

ROG.         Well,  in  what  guise?     Shall  I  protest 
A  melancholy  sickness  at  my  heart, 

TANC.  All  sicknesses  that  life  is  wasted  with 
Are  purged  from  hearts  that  are  by  love  invigored. 
Does  it  not  seem  as  thou  wert  disembodied ; 
Snatched  up  from  earthly  moods  and  cares  and  thralments ; 
In  thoughts  above  this  muddy  sphere  ensteeped ; 
Consorted  with  celestial  essences 


10  THE   WILL    AND   THE   WAY.  [Ad  I. 

ROG.  Hold — I'll  confess:  only  leave  me  on  earth. 
For  'tis  the  very  front  of  my  confession, 
That  her  dear  face  looked  never  yet  so  fair. 
I'm  all  terrestrial,  and  this  clod,  my  body, 
Paces  its  native  dust  with  prouder  port, 
Since  I  have  here  discerned  in  what  sweet  forms 
Our  elemental  grossness  can  be  wrought ; 
For  Blanche's  eyes  are  only  fulgent  clay. 

TANC.  How  thou  art  cursed  with  imagination, 
That  canst  espy  such  vile  affinities. 

EOG.  Diamond  and  gold  are  dust,  and  all  the  feasts 
The  senses  in  their  finest  hunger  take 
Are  but  more  cunning  mixtures  of  mere  mud. 

TANC.  Well,  rail  thy  worst,  and   beat   thy  bars ;    thou'rt 
caged. 

ROG.  To  friendship  and  to  loyalty  a  martyr. 
My  Prince,  my  friend,  a  pining  prisoner, 
And  I  not  share  in  his  captivity ! 
But  see,  where  yonder  come  our  gentle  captors. 

TANC.  Enlinked  in  one  another's  shining  arms, 
In  fragrant  interchange  of  maiden  love. 

ROG.     Like  woodbine  and  white  jesmin  interlocked, 
Perfuming  each  the  other  with  their  breaths. 

TANC.  The  branches  stoop  to  kiss  their  radiant  brows. 

ROG.  The  birds  have  hushed  to  hear  their  cadenced  voices. 

Enter   ROSALIE  and   BLANCHE.       They  start  on  seeing 
TAMCRED  and  ROGER,  and  disengage  their  arms. 

TANC.  Forgive  us  that  we  fright  your  solitude. 


SCENE  1.]  THE   WILL   AND   THE    WAY.  11 

ROSALIE.  In  truth  we  did  not  think  tq  meet  you  here. 
Yet  is  the  meeting  apt,  for  we  must  hence ; 
And  first  would  thank  you  for  your  courtesies. 

TANC.  What  you  are  fain  to  call  our  courtesies, 
Are  only  echoes,  shadows  of  yourselves ; 
Doings,  the  which,  although  by  us  enacted, 
Are  yet  as  indivisible  from  your  presence 
As  is  illumination  from  the  sun. 
You  gender  courtesy,  as  you  do  life 
On  the  pleased  mirror  that  retorts  your  image. 

Ros.  Your  words,  sir,  are  what  words  not  always  are, 
Near  kinsmen  of  your  acts,  and  these  embrace 
With  sumptuous  phrase,  that  still  enriches  them 
As  caskets  deep-enchased  do  costly  gems. 

BLANCHE.  And  thus-enclasped,  more  glibly  shall  we  bear 

them 
Away  to  Syracuse. 

HOG.  To  Syracuse ! 

TANC.  To  Syracuse ! 

Ros.  We  must  take  ship  to  day ; 

And  with  good  Neptune's  favor  shall  o'erride 
His  wind-ploughed  field  ere  a  new  morrow  dies. 

ROG.  Wherefore  to  Syracuse  ? 

Ros.  It  is  our  nest, 

Whence  we  with  half-fledged  wings  have  lately  ^ 

TANC.  Rumor  belies  it,  or  'tis  a  city  worth 
A  voyage  to  behold  ;  wise  and  well  governed. 

ROG.  If  so,  a  solitary  paragon 


12  THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY.          [ACT  I. 

It  is  'mong  cities. 

Eos.  Better  can  we  tell 

Of  convent-rule,  wherein  we  have  been  bounded, 
Yet,  so  far  may  our  girlish  knowledge  stretch, 
As  to  report  the  general  heart,  whose  pulse 
Beats  everywhere  content,  unsoiled  by  fear, 
Save  for  the  future. 

TANC.  Ah !  whence  comes  this  fear  ? 

Eos.  The  Bang  is  aged,  and  surmises  cloud 
The  hopes  of  thinking  subjects,  when  they  weigh 
What  changes  may  assault  us  at  his  death. 

TANC.  Behind  the  duteous  masking  of  your  thought 
I  spy  the  tell-tale  glance  of  meaning,  thus ; — 
The  good  King's  heir  is  somewhat  better  known 
Unto  the  fears  of  men  than  to  their  hopes. 

HOG.  A  fickle  Prince,  constant  in  self-devotion  ? 

BLANCHE.  Nay,  sir,  your  guess  hits  wide  of  the  crown's 
heir. 

HOG.  Ay ;  self-love  in  a  Prince  is  pardoned  quickest. 
It  is  a  fault  the  prostrate  subjects  love. 

Ros.  Howe'er  that  be,  it  is  no  fault  of  his. 
Rather  is  he  taxed  with  self-forgetfulness, 
Not  valuing  the  homage  of  his  place, 
Its  princely  dignities  and  royal  dues ; 
But  given  to*etill  and  learned  occupations  ; 
Whereto  he  is  enlisted  by  his  friend 
And  loved  companion,  Roger,  Count  of  Susa, 
Deep-versed  in  hidden  things. 


SCEKE  L]  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  13 

TANC.  A  sorcerer  ? 

A  solemn  necromancer,  draped  in  black, 
To  maze  the  empty  many  ? 

Ros.  Nay,  he  wins 

Men  by  his  wit,  when  he  consorts  with  them, 
Which  is  not  often ;  chiefly  using  them 
For  laughter.     One  as  skilled  in  the  brain's  secrets 
As  in  the  occulted  qualities  of  metals, 
Taking  small  pleasure  in  affairs  of  state, 
And  less  in  courtly  pomps. 

TANC.  A  misanthrope, 

Addicted  to  unholy  entertainments ; 
The  Prince  unteaching  of  his  princely  port, 
And  charging  him  with  guilty  novelties. 
What's  his  complexion  ?     Bilious,  lean,  and  dry  ? 

Ros.  Herein  the  testimony  of  our  tongues 
Hath  not  our  eyes  for  vouchers.     We  but  speak 
With  Rumor's  voice,  which  is  so  loud  and  boastful, 
When  bruiting  the  doings  of  the  great, 
It  overleaps  the  walls  of  cloister  life. 
But  if  by  the  bright  bigness  of  its  theme 
It  be  not  falsely  swelled,  the  Prince  and  Count 
Are  both,  in  the  outward  panoply  of  person 
As  well  equipped  as  in  more  secret  gifts. 

TANC.  You  make  me  wish  to  know  this  wizard  Count. 

Roo.  And  me  to  look  on  this  unprincely  Prince. 

Ros.  You're  very  like  t'  encounter  them ;  for  they, 
As  you  do,  take  delight  in  voyaging, 


14  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  [Ad  L 

And  oft  remove  themselves  for  many  moons 

Seeking  close  converse  with  outlandish  seers 

And  delvers  in  forbidden  mines  of  knowledge — 

A  cause  of  dutiful  disquietude 

Unto  the  King  and  Court.     But  come,  dear  cousin, 

"Pis  time  that  we  commit  us  to  the  waves. 

Our  ready  ship,  chafing  her  cable  curb, 

Springs  at  the  frothy  sea,  eager  to  chase 

This  sunny  breeze  that  runs  so  fast  toward  Sicily. 

TANG.  Would  that  we  could  transmute  ourselves  to  wind, 
That  we  might  fan  you  home  with  gentlest  force, 
Spending  our  life  in  breath  upon  your  sails 
When  friendly  breezes  falter. 

Eos.  To  minister 

Unseen,  felt  but  not  known ;  that  were  to  scale 
Unearthly  heights  of  bounteousness.     The  thought 
Enfolds  its  thinker :  this  your  courteous  wish 
Embalms  you  in  our  memory.     Farewell ! 

TANC.  That  voice  so  tuneful  should  speak  word  so  harsh. 
Till  now  I  never  learned  its  envious  meaning. 

Ros.  To  learn  is  ever  the  best  end  of  travel. 

HOG.  And  to  their  teachers  learners  should  be  grateful. 
Wherefore,  for  this,  your  bitter-sweet  instruction, 
We  thank  you.     Could  we  but  repay  the  lesson, — 

Ros.  We,  sir,  are  neither  travellers  nor  scholars. 

ROG.  Learners  you  are,  for  you  are  young  and  witty ; 
And  the  best  lesson  is  not  always  learnt 
Through  watchful  purpose,  but  by  sudden  light 


SCENE  I.]  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  15 

Self-kindled  in  the  docile  heart. 

BLAN.  You  speak,  sir, 

As  one  who  had  himself  learnt  many  lessons. 

HOG.  Fair  lady,  our  best  schooling  is  within ; 
And  now  I  speak  from  instant  inspiration. 

Ros.  Cousin,  we  know  the  cunning  subtlety 
These  gentlemen  can  gild  plain  words  withal. 
They'll  hold  us  here  with  polished  argument 
Till  the  wind  shifts.     Once  more  we  say,  Adieu. 

TANC.  Perforce  then  we  must  say,  Adieu. 

ROG.  Adieu. 

[Exeunt  ROSALIE  and  BLANCHE. 

TANC.  Let's  quick  aboard.     Will  there  be  wind  for  both  ? 
The  jealous  breeze  will  hug  their  sails  alone, 
Plaguing  all  meaner  hulls  with  lazy  calms. 
Or  will  he  not  pervert  his  unchecked  license, 
Madly  to  head  them  off  from  Sicily, 
That  he  may  hold  them  longer  in  his  clasp  ? 
Haste  we  aboard ;  then  fasten  on  their  wake 
Like  pirate  on  his  prey. — No;  we'll  to  leeward, 
And  so,  sail  in  the  air  that  hath  kissed  them, 
Made  odorous,  like  breezes  from  Spice  Islands. 
And  if  the  amorous  wind,  for  the  prolonging 
Of  his  delight,  shall  toss  them  from  their  track, 
Toward  Sardi's  laughing  hills  or  Afrio's  waste, 
We'll  toss 

ROQ,  No  more,  no  more. 

TANC.  Why,  what's  the  matter  ? 


16  THE  WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  [ACT  I. 

ROG.  Dancing  on  briny  waves  what  shall  I  be, 
When  from  the  billowy  motion  of  your  tongue 
I  am  already  sea-sick  ? 

TANG.    '  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

I  had  forgot  your  qualmish  malady. 
Oh !  Sicily,  my  country,  till  this  hour 
I  knew  not  how  I  love  thee. 

ROG.  Whither  wilt  thou  ? 

TANC.  Whither?     Whither  but  back  to  Syracuse? 

EOG.  The  King's  son  wafted  to  his  capital 
Intorted  in  the  wings  of  upstart  Cupids. 

TANC.  A  seat  for  gods  to  envy. 

ROG.  And  for  men 

To  weep  at. 

TANC.         Ay,  with  tears  of  crocodile. 
Roger,  why  should  the  Prince  englut  the  man  ? 

ROG.  Princehood  and  manhood  are  blank  opposites. 
He  who  begins  by  swallowing  his  fellows, 
Must  end  with  the  engulfing  of  himself. 

TANC.  I  will  have  no  such  ending  or  beginning. 
We'll  think  of  this,  and  you  shall  do  the  thinking. 

ROG.  The  King's  prime  minister,  he  too  will  think. 
Methinks,  he'll  think  our  thinking  is  unthinking. 

TANC.  Well,  now  I'll  think  of  naught  but  Rosalie, 
Cleansing  thereby  my  thoughts  for  enterprise.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  H-l  THE   WILL    AND    THE   WAY.  17 

SCENE  II. 
King's  Palace  in  Syracuse. 

Enter  King,  ORONTIO,  his  Prime  Minister,  and  BERNARDO,  a 
Priest,  Confessor  to  the  King. 

KINO.  Bernardo,  you  have  searched  my  niece,  to  clutch 
The  very  kernel  of  her  disposition  ? 

BERN.  I  have,  my  liege ;  it  is  as  sweet  as  sound. 
A  truer  servant  of  the  holy  church 
Lives  not  uncanonized. 

KING.  I  mean,  Bernardo, 

Touching  her  marriage  with  my  son. 

BERN.  My  liege. 

Devout  obedience  turns  all  duties  light ; 
Foreruns  the  will,  subjecting  it  unfelt 
To  clerical  predominance ;  whereby 
Encounter  'twixt  desire  and  duteous  need 
Loses  its  angry  pith,  and  acts  like  this, 
Where  will  and  wisdom  close  in  glad  embrace, 
Are  calmly  hailed  as  providential  blessings. 

KINO.  Though  she  has  known  some  summers  more  than 

Tancred, 

Still  wears  she  green  the  glistening  crown  of  youth. 
Marriage  becomes  a  Prince.     His  daily  life 
It  sanctifies,  and  plants  him  in  the  respect 
Of  sober  men.     Orontio,  have  you  tidings 
Of  Tancred  ? 

ORONTIO.     Sire,  my  messenger,  a  quick  one, 


18  THE    WILL    AND    THE    WAY.  [Ad  I. 

Found  not  the  prince  in  Florence,  nor  could  learn 
News  of  him  there. 

K[NG.  These  wayward  voyagings 

Beseem  him  not,  and  have  for  the  throne's  heir 
A  peril  disproportioned  to  their  aim. 

BERN.  'Gainst  the  remitting  perils  of  the  sea 
He's  armed  by  provident  contrivances 
Of  Art,  and  the  picked  skill  that  waits  on  princes. 
But  hourly  near  him,  and  as  subtly  poisonous 
As  speechless  exhalations  from  a  fen  — 
For  which  there  is  no  antidote  but  distance  — 
Are  hotter  dangers  that  assail  his  soul. 

KING.  You  have  before  frighted  my  ear,  Bernardo, 
With  stormy  mutterings  against  Count  Roger ; 
And  I,  with  all  a  father's  watchfulness, 
Have  hearkened,  questioned,  probed,  and  nothing  found 
Worse  in  the  count  than  the  irreverence 
Native  to  youth,  which  riper  years  will  physic. 

BERN.  Pardon,  my  liege ;  you  much  misprize  this  man. 
He's  old  in  thought,  and  never  has  been  young. 
'Tis  his  great  fault  that  in  youth's  levity 
He's  wanting.     He  bemocks  our  sacred  calling, 
Gores  custom  and  time's  steadfast  usages ; 
And  with  licentious  hand  seeks  to  unrobe 
Nature's  chaste  mysteries.     Harmless  alone, 
He  is,  as  princely  parasite,  a  sore 
Sickening  the  healthy  heart  of  Sicily. 
KING.  Marriage  will  heal  this  sore.     The  warmer  fires 


SCENE  II.]  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  19 

Of  wedded  love  consume  all  lighter  joys. 

Love  is  a  whetted  knife  'twixt  youthful  friendships. — 

I  hear,  Orontio,  that  you  have  a  purpose 

To  let  your  daughter  first  behold  the  world 

In  mask. 

ORON.     "Pis  true,  my  liege.    To-morrow  I 
Present  my  niece  and  daughter  to  my  friends. 
My  brother's  orphaned  child  and  my  own  girl, 
Have  grown  together  in  my  heart  as  one. 
Our  festal  entertainment  will  lack  naught 
But  that  my  King  should  grace  it  with  his  looks. 

KING.  Count  me,  my  friend,  among  your  grateful  guests. — 
Bernardo,  be  your  cleric  task,  to  season 
The  good  Matilda  for  her  budding  duties. 

[Exeunt  King  and  ORONTIO 
BERNARDO,  alone. 

The  sovereign  church  hath  duties  paramount. 
The  single  fountain  of  true  piety, 
Self-love  in  her  is  one  with  generous  virtue,  * 
And  self-replenishment  religious  goodness ; 
And  thence,  her  heaviest  sin  were  self-neglect, 
Now,  through  conjunction  of  our  separate  loves, — 
Made  one  by  interchange  of  opposites, — 
Princess  Matilda  is  betrothed  to  us. 
As  rich  is  she  in  reverence  as  gold. 
Marriage  with  Tancred  would  imperil  both. 
For  he,  not  having  an  obedient  bent, 
Already  loves  us  not ;  and  this  his  lukeness, — 


20  THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY.          |AcT  I. 

Without  the  acid  of  his  scoffing  friend, — 

Might  turn  to  hate  through  dastard  jealousy. 

Men  are  not  wrought  to  piety  by  women 

So  oft  as  wives  are  thence  distraught  by  husbands. 

One  of  our  harvest-fields  is  maidenhood, 

Which  sheds  its  buds  in  autumn  fruit  on  us.  Exit. 


SCENE  L|  THE  WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  21 


ACT  II. 

SCENE   I. 
A  Hall  in  ORONTIO'S  House. 

King,  ORONTIO,  ROSALIE,  BLANCHE,  unmasked.     Numerous 
Guests,  Male  and  Female,  all  masked.     Music  playing  a 
Waltz. 
KI\G.  Music  compels  quick  motion  in  the  blood, 

Making  slow  age  revolt  against  its  slowness. 

These  dancing  notes  bring  sad  sweet  memories, 

Gifts  from  free  youth  to  yoked  maturity. 

But  for  this  daily  mixture  in  life's  caldron 

Of  was  with  is,  age  were  as  stale  and  sour 

As  pools  deserted  by  the  brooks  that  feed  them. 

Great  Nature  is  so  bounteous  provident, 

She  sets  strong  eddies  in  our  downward  current, 

Bending  life's  waters  back  toward  their  young  fonts, 

That  we  live  o'er  our  virgin  days  in  offspring. 

My  thoughts  now  think  more  with  my  sou  than  self. 

Is  it  not  so  with  "you,  Orontio? 

ORON.  My  liege, 

'Tis  even  so :  I  breathe  but  for  my  daughter, 

And  sometimes  fear  that  losing  her,  I  should 

Weary  of  life. 


22  THE   WILL   AND   THE    WAY.  [ACT  II. 

KING.  Still,  thou  wilt  lose  her ;  for, 

Her  time  is  almost  come,  when  she,  transplanted 
From  the  close  hot  bed  of  paternal  love, 
Must  grow  out  doors,  and  face,  as  best  she  can 
With  her  own  competence,  the  blasts  and  frosts 
Of  the  bleak  world's  unceasing  winter.     She 
Is  marriageable,  and  being  beautiful 
And  high,  she  will  be  married.     And  'tis  best 
That  we — who  can  not  war  'gainst  Nature's  needs, 
Without  rebellious  danger  to  our  cause  — 
Make  treaty  with  strong  Nature's  wilfulness, 
And  thus,  in  th'  act  of  resignation  stamp  — 
By  one  deep  pressure  of  authority  — 
Our  cooler  judgment  on  young  passion's  heats. 
Among  our  topmost  nobles  have  you  found, 
Orontio,  one  worthy  of  Rosalie  1 

ORON.  I  have  not  found  because  I  have  not  sought. 
My  kinsman  Conrad  and  myself  are  pledged, 
By  mutual  contract  early  registered, 
To  tighten  ties  of  chance  with  ties  of  choice. 
His  eldest  son,  Alphonso,  and  my  daughter 
Are  by  us  plighted.     He  is  here  to-night, 
To  scan  young  Rosalie,  himself  unscanned. 

KING.  The  hottest  look,  even  of  envy,  would — 
Like  floods  of  fiery  dawn  loosed  on  red  May-buds — 
Inflame  her  beauties  into  deeper  glow. 
Alphonso  is  of  noble  stem,  and  Rumor 
Echoes  his  name  in  lordly  notes  of  praise. — 


SCENE  I.]        THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY.  23 

Let's  walk  awhile  before  I  take  my  leave.— 

TANC.  Who  is't  that  speaks  so  long  to  Rosalie  ? 

ROG.  I'll  tell  thee  if  thou'lt  first  tell  me,  who  is 
The  blissful  wretch  that  talks  so  much  to  Blanche. 

TANC.  To  lift  that  mask  I'd  give  a  month  of  life. 

ROG.  We  profit  most  by  visors ;  and  for  me, 
I  love  this  foolery  for  itself,  so  like 
The  foolish  world,  where  men  go  always  masked, 
Seeking  their  ends  through  thin  hypocrisies. 
This  is  a  private  theatre,  whose  parts 
Are  each  played  perfectly,  because  so  dully. 
All  here's  theatrical  because  'tis  true, 
And  true  because  it  is  theatrical. — 

TANC.  Lady,  your  privilege  is  your  deprivation. 

Ros.  That  it  deprives  me  of  your  phrase's  meaning  ? 

TAXC.  Your  eyes  are  stars  making  night  beautiful, 
Yet  seeing  not  the  beauty  that  they  make. 

Ros.  Your  words  have  caught  the  stars'  mysteriousness. 

TANC.  For  looking  while  I  speak,  they  are  enskyed. 
But  words  are  weak ;  mine  stagger  'neath  their  load. 

Ros.  And  what  is  that  ? 

TANC.  A  heart  so  full  of  sighs 

It  has  no  room  for  joys  that  would  o'erfill  it. 

Ros.  A  traitor  heart,  to  let  its  enemies  in 
And  keep  out  friends. 

TANC.  It  hugs  lean  sighs  as  friends, 

Making  of  pain  its  petted  biting  comrade. 

Ros.  A  foolish  heart,  to  love  its  misery. 


24  THE    WILL   A\D   THE   WAY.  [Ad  IL 

TANG.  Folly  and  wo  are  ever  close  of  kin ; 
And  so  'twill  not  be  comforted  or  counselled. 

Ros.  A  stubborn  heart  that  will  not  take  kind  counsel. 

TANC.  Condemn  it  not  till  you  have  counselled  it. 

Ros.  Who  needs  advice  is  prone  to  take  the  bad. 

TANC.  Too  true ;  and  yours,  I  fear,  would  not  be  good. 

Ros.  Why  ask  it  then  ? 

TANC.  Because,  if  bad — I  mean 

Bad  by  its  impotence  to  cure  my  ill — 
I  should  not  follow  it. 

Ros.  Why  do  you  think 

My  counsel  would  be  bad  ? 

TANC.  Because  I  fear  so. 

One  of  love's  follies  is,  to  war  with  hope. 

Ros.  Sir  Knight,  is  this  the  first  time  we  have  spoken  ? 

TANC.  Fair  lady,  I  could  swear  that  never  till  now 
Heard  I  your  voice's  full  melodiousness, 
Nor  saw  the  perfect  brilliance  of  your  face ; 
And  swearing  so,  I  should  not  be  forsworn. 

SERVANT.  My  lady,  Lord  Orontio  bids  me  say, 
There  are  new  guests  who  would  be  greeted. 

MANFRED.  I  pray  you,  sir,  the  lady  you  just  spoke  with, 
Is  she  Orontio's  niece  ? 

Roo.  You  love  the  lady  ? 

MANF.  I  think  I  do,  and  shall  be  sure  I  do, 
If  once  assured  she  is  Orontio's  niece. 

Roo.  'Tis  then  the  minister  who  is  your  first  love, 
His  niece  your  second.    You're  an  office-seeker  1 


SCENE  I.]  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  25 

MANF.  No,  sir ;  I  am  Count  Manfred  of  Palermo. 
ROG.  Sir  Count,  the  lady  is  Orontio's  daughter. 
MANF.  More  worthy  still. of  love  than  even  his  niece. 
I'm  in  your  debt ;  tell  me  how  I  can  pay  you. 

ROG.  I  live  to  serve  my  friends  :  let  me  be  yours. 

• 
The  rich  and  noble  Manfred  of  Palermo 

MANF.  You  know  me  then ; 

ROG.  Sir  Count,  attaint  me  not 

In  your  high  thoughts,  taxing  me  ignorant. 

MANF.  I  crave  your  pardon.     Speech  and  vesture  both 
Proclaim  the  gentleman.     Be  you  my  friend. 
You  know  the  lady  well  ?     You  have  her  ear  ? 
Now,  sir,  were  she  my  wife 

ROG.  Orontio's  daughter, — 

MANF.  The  same.    Were  she  my  wife,  there  were  not  then 
A  higher,  happier  man  in  Sicily, 
Than  I  myself,  Count  Manfred,  save  the  King. 

ROG.  And  prince. 

MANF.  The  prince  is  not  enough  a  prince. 
He  is  too  learned,  and  lacks  showiness. 
Then  he  affects  not  princely  things,  as  feasts 
And  horses,  priests,  pomps,  soldiers. — But  the  lady : 
Use,  sir,  your  tongue  for  me.     I  see  you  know  me. 
Convey  your  knowledge  to  her  ear.     Farewell. 
I  go  to  please  her  father  with  this  theme.  [Exit. 

ROG.  Convey  your  knowledge  to  her  ear :  ha !  ha  !  ha  ! 
Oh  !  you  have  missed  a  prodigy. 

TANC.  What's  that  ? 

2 


26  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  f ACT  II. 

ROG.  A  creature  that  confounds  philosophy  : 
A  fellow  whose  curled  head  would  float  in  vacuo. 
His  brain  insults  the  laws  of  gravitation, 
So  gaseous  buoyant  'tis  with  vanity. 
He's  gone  to  ask  Orontio  for  his  daughter. 

TANC.  For  Eosalie  ? 

EOG.  No ;  Blanche,  whom  he  believes — 

With  his  clear  insight  trusting  me — the  daughter. 

TANC.  This  may  breed  mischief. 

ROG.  Sport,  and  nothing  more. 

TANC.  Whenever  I've  come  near  to  Rosalie, 
There's  one  who  has  so  tracked  me  as  he  were 
My  very  shadow,  cast  by  light  from  her. 
My  eyes  would  not  play  hypocrite,  but  at  him, 
Ere  I  could  rule  them,  threw  defiant  glances. 
Roger,  this  masquerading  irks  and  chafes  me. 

ROG.  To  win  sweet  Blanche,  I'd  mask  it  for  a  year 

Ros.  Ha,  gentlemen,  when  did  you  come  from  Naples  ? 

TANC.  "We  are  discovered. 

ROG.  But  the  half  of  us.— 

Fair  vagabonds,  we  came  with  you ;  for  Naples, 
Wanting  the  fruitful  sunshine  of  your  looks, 
Grew  to  a  bladeless  desert  in  a  night. 

Ros.  Sir,  I  perceive,  our  air  of  Sicily 
Rusts  not  your  speech. 

ROG.  Light  is  rust's  enemy ; 

And  thus  are  we  kept  polished  by  your  lustre. 

BLAN.  Sir  Knight,  your  tongue  speaks  sunbeams. 


SCENE  I.J  THE   WILL   AND   THE    WAY.  27 

Eos.  Moonbeams,  cousin; 

His  light  is  lunar,  caught  from  us,  his  Sun. 
But  now,  sir  Moon,  come  shine  with  your  own  beams, 
Unmasking  you  for  supper. 

EOG-  Nay,  not  I. 

Eos.  Your  reason. 

EOG.  Folly  masked  is  not  so  foolish 

As  unmasked.     I  would  neither  see  nor  show 
Folly  quite  naked.     Are  you  satisfied  ? 

Eos.  Entirely  —  with  the  folly  of  your  reason; 
And  if  your  friend  hath  not  .good  freight  of  wisdom 
Wherewith  to  ballast  such  big  bales  of  folly, 
You'll  founder  ere  you  end  your  voyagings. 

TANC.  Think  me  not  vain ;  but  I,  in  truth  believe, 
That  I  am  wise. 

Eos.  You  have  then  wiser  reasons 

For  wisdom  than  your  comrade  has  for  his  folly. 

TANC.  The  wisest,  and  your  tongue  it  is  that  speaks  them. 
Each  syllable  of  yours  attests  me  wise. 

Eos.  [  To  Roger.]  Interpret. 

EOG.  Nay  the  proverb  bars  me. 

Eos.  The  proverb ! 

EOG.  Ay,  "  a  wise  speech  sleeps  in  a  foolish  ear." 

BLAN.  Cousin,  we  must  begone.     If,  gentlemen, 
You  will  not  in  to  supper,  we  must  leave  you. 

TANC.  Think  not  we  are  discourteous ;  but  we  have 
In  Syracuse  a  mission  of  great  import, 
The  which  demands  we  should  as  yet  be  secret. 


28  THE   WILL   AND    THE    WAY.  [ACT  IL 

Ros.  Good  night ;  and  prosper  in  your  embassy. 

TANC.  Your   good  will's  worth  more  than   a  king's   cre- 
dentials. [Exeunt  EOSALIE  and  BLANCHE. 
Roger,  my  spirits  flag  and  I  grow  heavy. 

ROG.  Love  genders  thought  faster  than  ram  doth  grass, 
And  thought  is  serious,  and  seriousness 
Grows  heavy  if  it  lasts ;  so,  when  it  does, 
Tracing  its  sprightly  pedigree  to  love, 
Your  spirits  will  remount.     This  is  no  time 
For  doltish  melancholy.     Our  best  wit 
We  need,  and  whetted  to  its  keenest  edge, 
To  shiver  the  entanglements  of  custom. 

TANC.  Your  mettle  kindles  mine,  and  I  ant  purged 
Already  of  the  lees  of  cloudy  fancies. 

ROG.  Our  task  is  subtler  than  oft  falls  to  princes ; 
To  compass  liberty  through  joy,  and  joy 
Through  love.     Then  with  the  three  a  diadem 
To  build  worth  all  the  crowns  of  tedious  kings. 
Now  let's  devise  the  measures  for  success, 
And  counterplot  the  plots  of  adversaries.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  H. 

A  Public  Square  in  Syracuse. 
Enter  ALPHONSO,  MANFRED,  and  OSMOND. 

MANP.  These  few  days  are  enough  to  give  me  wonder, 
How  one  in  Syracuse  can  keep  so  long 
A  bachelor. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY"  29 

OSM.  Palermo  is  a  mine 

As  deeply  veined  with  beauty  ;  but  the  things 
We  have  we  prize  not  at  their  height,  for  aye 
Stretching  beyond  us  for  a  better  still ;  — 
Nature's  device  to  draw  us  up  and  onward ;  — 
Thus  through  dissatisfaction  with  our  own 
To  satisfy  her  hungry  appetite 
For  sunny  change  and  rich  variety. 

ALPH.  You  are  a  talking  theorist ;  for  still 
You  hug  the  wilting  shade  of  singleness. 

OSM.  'Tis  but  a  step  into  the  sun. 

ALPH.  And  you 

Feel  autumn's  coolness  creeping  on  your  veins  1 

OSM.  I  know  not  if 't  be  that :  it  well  may  be  : 
But  since  last  night  I  hate  what  I  have  loved, 
And  am  in  love  with  thoughts  I've  always  shunned  ; 
I  would  be  the  opposite  of  what  I've  been, 
Think  me  a  fool  for  being  what  I  am ; 
And,  like  a  bankrupt,  find  myself  to-day 
Suddenly  dispossessed  of  all  I've  lived  on. 
I'm  ready  to  begin  the  world  anew. 

MANF.  You  have  been  strongly  dosed.    Who's  your  physi- 
cian? 

OSM.  Our  host  Orontio's  niece. 

MANF.  We  shall  be  cousins. 

OSM.  How  so  ? 

MANF.  I've  asked  Orontio  for  his  daughter. 

ALPH.  His  daughter ! 


30  THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY.          rAcT  II. 

OSM.  And  how  answered  he  to  that  1 

MANF.  Just  as  becomes  a  minister  of  state ; 
With  stateliness  and  high-hred  courtesy. 

OSM.  And  promised  you  the  brilliant  Eosalie  ? 

MANF.  A  minister  of  state  proceeds  by  steps. 
In  a  first  interview  he  does  not  say, 
In  audible  words,  "  Sir,  take  my  daughter."     No  ; 
That  were  to  cheapen  both  himself  and  daughter. 
But  he  is  shrewd ;  and  being  so,  will  ask, 
What  makes  against  this  match,  and  what  makes  for  it  ? 
My  friends  can  doubt  not  what  will  be  the  answer. 

ALPH.  You  have  a  rival  in  a  visored  knight, 
Whose  steel-cooped  eyes  fastened  on  Rosalie, 
Making  her  redden  with  their  fiery  gaze, 
Such  was  their  glow  and  hot  tenacity ; — 
And  yet,  methought,  her  fancies  ripened  in  it, 
Growing  more  rich  and  precious  from  his  looks, 
Like  a  Burgundian  vineyard  in  the  sun. 

MANF.  I'm  used  to  rivals  and  I  dread  them  not. 
Besides,  the  knight  you  speak  of  is  my  friend. 

ALPH.  What  is  his  name  ? 

MANF.  I  know  it  not ;  but  finding, 

When  I  accosted  him,  he  knew  me  well, 
I  have  bespoke  his  friendly  services. 
I  will  go  seek  him.     Gentlemen,  adieu.  \Exit. 

OSM.  This  fellow's  tongue  filches  from  words  their  wealth. 
When  I  have  heard  him  speak,  I  would  be  silent, 
Ashamed  to  use  speech  that  has  been  so  emptied. 


SCENE  II.]  THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY.  31 

ALPH.  The  artless  gloss  of  Rosalie's  perfection 
Is  dulled  by  the  close  breath  of  such  a  coxcomb. 
Osmond,  his  love  makes  love  ridiculous. 

OSM.  He  speaks  for  my  especial  chastisement. 

ALPH.  Perhaps  for  mine.     What  think  you  of  his  suit  ? 

OSM.  That  'tis  not  worth  a  thought. 

ALPH.  You  know  his  station, 

Wide-rooted  'mong  the  highest,  in  a  soil 
Steeped  to  the  covert  rock  in  quickening  gold. 
And  in  these  rank  and  merchantable  times, 
Gold  is  a  very  pope.     It  cleanseth  crime, 
Uplifts  the  vile  to  purple  altitudes, 
Sets  crowns  upon  the  base,  uncrowns  the  noble, 
And  with  a  sensual  sneer  upon  its  front, 
Usurps  the  righteous  throne  of  patient  virtue. 

OSM.  Orontio,  like  most  men  whose  breath  is  fed 
On  the  cold  heights  of  laborsome  ambition,    . 
Prizes  the  glitter  of  life's  pithless  pomps, 
More  than  its  beauties ;  but  he  loves  his  daughter ; 
And  to  that  love  he  adds  —  like  all  shrewd  worldlings — 
A  scorn  of  fools.     He  will  not  wed  his  child 
To  a  gilt  popinjay.     Look  to  the  knight 
With  burning  gaze. 

ALPH.  But  he  is  Manfred's  friend. 

OSM.  'Tis  only  Manfred's  tongue  that  says  he  is. 
In  love  trust  looks  more  than  the  stoutest  words. 

ALPH.  Osmond,  let's  you  and  I  live  bachelors. 

OSM.  What,  are  you  out  of  love  with  love  already  ? 


32  THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY.          [ACT  II. 

ALPH.  Being  hardly  in,  I'm  pricked  with  thorns  already. 
I  fear  there  is  a  briery  road  before  us, 
And  we  shall  get  well  scratched  in  pushing  through. 

OSM.  Is  it  my  disposition  or  my  luck  ? 
To  me  the  road  is  a  new  swath  of  carpet, 
Inlaid  by  artful  Nature's  freshest  hand ; 
Soft  as  a  parrot's  plumage  and  as  green, 
Bowered  by  thornless  rosebuds,  whose  sweet  breath 
Caresses  me,  as  I  trip  me  along, 
Blithe  as  a  robin  to  his  vernal  mate. 

ALP.  If  that's  your  mood,  you  ought  to  be  alone ; 
For  rhapsody  is  spoilt  by  listeners.     Adieu. 

OSM.  Nay,  I'm  too  happy  now  for  solitude. 
We'll  look  up,  Cousin  Manfred,  and  from  him 
Learn  something  of  the  thorny  knight.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  I.]  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  33 


ACT  III. 

SCENE    I. 

ORONTIO'S  Garden. 

Enter  RoSALiE^awd  BLANCHE. 

Ros.  Nay,  we  should  trust  ourselves.     "We  two  are  strong 
In  one  another.     In  thine  eyes  I  look, 
And  fortify  me  with  thy  innocence. 

BLAN.  'Tis  thou,  dear  coz,  that  givest  strength  to  me. 
Alone,  I  should  not  dare  to  stir  in  this. 
To  maidens  the  forbidden  fruit  is  freedom : 
So  says  our  father. 

Ros.  Not  for  worlds,  dear  Blanche, 

Would  I  gainsay  so  wise  and  good  a  father ; 
But  yet,  I  feel  rebellious  motions  in  me. 
The  taste  of  liberty  we  had  in  Naples 
Feeds  a  new  appetite,  born  of  itself. 
Scanted  in  food  to  this,  I  can  not  live. 
Freedom  seems  now  the  parent  that  begat  me, 
So  strong  and  fresh  is  the  dear  life  it  brings. — 
What  art  thou  thinking  of  so  soberly  ? 

BLAN.  I'm  thinking  of  the  chains  that  freedom  forges. 

Ros.  And  wondering,  how  that  little  heart  of  thine 

Doth  furnish  metal  for  the  links  thereof. 

2* 


34  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  [Ad  ILL 

Most  true  it  is,  that  freedom  forges  chains ; 

But  ever  of  a  subtler  property. 

At  first,  of  grossest  iron,  wherewithal 

To  bind  the  raw  and  rugged ;  then  of  steel, 

By  subtler  art  wrought  to  a  keen  compactness; 

Of  silver  next,  worn  as  an  ornament, 

That  'neath  its  burnished  folds  hides  rings  of  force ; 

And  then  of  kneaded  gold,  whose  yellow  sheen 

And  ponderous  magnificence  lure  hearts 

Into  contentment  with  their  servitude ; 

And  later  higher  still,  of  precious  stones, 

Diamond  and  ruby  intermeshed  with  gold. 

And  when  that  life  beats  richer,  fuller,  better, 

Then  ornament  and  might  are  interfused, 

Man  wearing  rule  as  Earth  her  atmosphere, 

The  circumambient  watchman  of  her  wealth, 

Beauty  and  use  being  one ;  until  at  last, 

Great  freedom  grows  so  skilful  strong,  her  bonds 

All  spring  self-woven  from  the  core  of  joy, 

And  life,  purged  by  abundant  action,  is 

A  free  enchainment,  a  chained  liberty, 

Like  the  linked  multitude  of  peopling  stars, 

As  beautiful,  as  vast,  as  pure  as  they. 

BLAN.  Good  Heaven  !     Cousin,  where  learnt  you  all  this  ? 

Eos.  From  the  great  teacher,  Love.     Am  I  not  apt  ? 

BLAN.  T  wish  we'd  given  them  meeting  within  doors. 

Ros.  This  hall  of  nature  is  most  apposite 
To  such  an  interview.     The  boundless  vault 


SCENE  I.]        THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY.  35 

And  steadfast  blue  of  heaven,  and  nothing  less, 
Should  be  the  witnesses  of  the  large  hopes 
And  sacramental  vows  of  this  encounter. 

BLAN.  You  still  forget  they  are  unknown  to  us. 

Ros.  Dear  Blanche,  I  shall  begin  to  think  thou  lov'st  not, 
Thou  art  so  skeptical.     Love  is  religious ; 
It  nourisheth  a  generous  faith.     Unknown ! 
Their  names  and  place  and  outward  circumstance, 
The  accidental  furnishments  of  men, 
We  know  not.     But  the  temper  of  their  souls, 
Their  hearts'  clean  manly  quality,  we  know ; 
And  if  there  be,  as  we  have  credit  for, 
A  sifting  virtue  in  a  woman's  instinct, 
To  point,  like  the  divining  rod,  to  where 
There  is  a  spring  of  truth  and  courtesy, 
I  will  forego  my  use  of  polished  judgment, 
And  henceforth  grossly  follow  corporal  sense, 
If  both  of  them  are  not  true  gentlemen. 

BLAN.  Oh  !  they  are  that.     I'll  trust  my  honor  to  them 
Further  than  I  had  thought  to  trust  a  man. 

Ros.  I  knew  thee,  hypocrite,  that  seemed  to  chide, 
While  inly  thou  didst  thank  me  for  my  boldness. — 
They  come.     They  shall  at  once  unmask  them  quite. 

Enter  TANCRED  and  ROGER. 

What  will  you  augur  of  Sicilian  dames, 

When  maidens  thus  profane  their  modesty, 

And  pluck  the  angry  beard  of  white-haired  Custom, 


36  THE   WILL    AND   THE    WAY.  [AcT  HI. 

Holding  hushed  interviews  with  new-met  strangers  ? 

TANC.  Custom  is  sickly,  and  had  better  cast 
His  hoary  slough,  or  kill  himself  outright, 
When  he  would  clog  the  gait  of  innocence. 

Ros.  Customs  are  often  tenderly  defensive  ; 
And  there  is  one  which  bids,  that  gentlemen, 
To  ladies  who  have  trusted  them  so  far 
Beyond  the  sanction  of  its  ordinances, 
Come  forth  out  of  the  darkness  of  disguise 
Into  the  light  of  chivalrous  openness, 
Declaring  who  and  whence  and  what  they  are. 

Enter  from  behind,  King  and  ORONTIO. 

TANC.  Heavier  on  us,  the  sinners,  than  on  you, 
The  sinned  against,  weighs  this  unwilled  concealment. 

KING.  Does  such  concealment  fit  a  royal  prince  ? 
The  son  I  can  forgive. — And  you,  Sir  Count ; 
Warnings  I've  had,  the  which  I  heeded  not, 
So  honest  was  my  faith  in  you.     But  now 
Your  acts  reprove  your  friends,  reward  your  foes. 

HOG.  The  warnings  which  your  Majesty  has  had 
Were  juster  than  your  present  accusation ; 
Yet  were  they  slanders. 

TANC.  Sire,  on  me  let  fall 

Whatever  stroke  of  blame  you  will  to  strike : 
Tancred,  not  Roger,  is  the  guilty  one, 
If  guilt  can  be,  unfelt  by  th'  actors  of  it. 

Eos.  Prince  Tancred ! 


SCENE  I.]  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  37 

BLAN.  Count  Roger ! 

ORON.  You  know  them  not  1 

Ros.  We  know  them  and  we  know  them  not. 

ORON.  What's  this  ? 

KING.  Speak,  and  undo  the  tangled  noose  wherein, 
Like  frighted  hares,  you  all  stand  wildly  snared. 

Ros.  Your  Majesty,  in  Naples,  where  we  were, 
To  sport  a  month  in  easeful  solitude, 
Two  courtly  cavaliers  did  we  encounter, 
Sauntering  like  us  on  that  sweet-tempered  shore. 
Bearing  and  speech  announced  them  gentlemen, 
As  their  large  conversation  did  attest 
They  were,  what  they  avowed  themselves  to  be, 
Scholars  in  quest  of  art  and  knowledge ;  only 
They  swore,  they  learnt  more  in  an  hour's  talk 
With  our  wise  selves,  than  in  a  year  with  sages. 
'Twas  but  a  week  since  there  we  left  them  both, 
When  yesterevening,  through  the  unlifted  vizors 
Of  mailed  knights,  again  their  voices  smote  us. 

ORON.  And  where  learned  you  so  young  the  time-cropped 

knowledge 
To  know,  who  is  a  gentleman,  who  not  ? 

Ros.  Near  Naples,  honored  father ;  and  th'  attestors 
Of  our  discernment  are  before  you  now.  , 

ORON.  Well,  well :  but  what  do  you  unguarded  here  ? 

Ros.  Besides  the  guardianship  of  these  your  walls, 
We  have,  sir,  that  of  our  own  modesty. 

KING.  Beshrew  me,  but  your  daughter  is  well-tongued. 


38  THE    WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  [ACT  111. 

I  swear,  Orontio,  that  had  I  a  girl, 

I  would  she  might  be  like  to  yours  in  speech. 

ORON.  My  liege,    offence   is  parent  of  her  wit. 
Women  find  always  words  to  mend  their  faults. 
Get  in :  the  hot  look  of  the  saucy  sun 
Will  not  so  quickly  stain  a  maiden's  cheek 
As  will  the  world's  bold  eyes  her  modesty. 
Women,  like  pictures,  are  best  seen  indoors. 

Ros.  There  to  be  looked  at,  never  listened  to. 
I'm  glad  I'm  not  a  man. 

KING.  Your  reason,  fair  one  1 

Ros.  I  would  not  have  a  picture  for  my  mate. 

[Exeunt  ROSALIE  and  BLANCHE. 

KING.  A  witty  wench,  with  will  to  match  her  beauty. — 
For  you,  Count  Roger,  you  have  leave  to  travel 
For  three  months  longer.     'Tis  our  further  wish, 
To-morrow  find  you  not  in  Sicily. 

TANC.  I  pray  you,  sire,  put  like  command  on  me. 
The  exile  of  my  friend,  for  fault  of  mine, 
Sends  me  to  worse  than  lonely  banishment. 
My  conscience  will  make  Syracuse  a  prison. 

KING.  The  penalty  will  weigh  then  heaviest  where 
There  is  most  fault.     My  son  must  stay  at  home : 
The  state  doth  need  his  aidance.     'Tis  full  time 
Prince  Tancred  had  put  hand  to  that  rough  helm 
Whose  mastering  motions  he  shall  one  day  master. 

[Exeunt  King  and  ORONTIO. 

TANC.  This  is  unkind  and  cruel  of  the  King. 


SCENE  I.]  THE   WILL   AND  THE   WAY.  39 

ROG.  Nay,  for  a  king  I  think  'tis  clemency. 
Judge  not  the  Bang,  lest  you  prejudge  yourself; 
An  error  hasty  youth  is  prone  to.     Then, 
Kings  of  all  mortals  are  most  fallible. 
Temptation,  which  inferior  men  assaults 
In  single  files,  at  parted  intervals, 
Beleaguers  them  with  unremitting  squadrons ; 
Or  hourly  sooths  them  like  a  fawning  courtier. 
Their  very  elevation  tempts  them  act. 
Like  children,  throwing  porcelain  from  a  window, 
Then  shouting  gleeful  at  their  smashing  power, 
Their  trifles  gain  a  fairy  potency, 
Gathering  their  weight  from  distance  of  descent. 

TANC.  Roger,  is  this  a  time  to  moralize  1 
You  are  banished,  banished. 

ROG.  Ay,  I  am,  so  far 

As  royal  words  can  banish  me.     But,  Tancred, 
On  earth  there  is  a  king  kinglier  than  kings, 
With  sway  more  regal  than  imperial  will, 
The  one  sole  sovereign  of  the  active  world. 
THOUGHT  is  the  topmost  potentate  'mong  men. 
Of  this  unconquerable  conqueror 
The  realm  is  obstacle,  the  sceptre  triumph. 
Like  the  hurricane,  invisible  he  comes, 
But  with  a  might  mightier  than  air  or  light, 
Whose  subtlest  spirit  he  grasps  for  his  wise  use, 
Making  all  elements  his  instruments. 
Tracking  the  purposes  of  God's  deep  will, 


40  THE    WILL    AND   THE    WAY.  [ACT  111. 

Threads  shall  he  wind  from  Labor's  thousand  distaffs, 

To  weave  the  cables  of  humanity. 

With  his  calm  strength  steadying  the  eye  of  truth, 

The  golden  scales  of  justice  he  shall  balance, 

Teach  Charity  to  multiply  herself, 

And  rusted  Faith  cleanse  of  impurity. 

Hearkening  the  whispers  of  remotest  law, 

This  flat  firm  earth  he  shall  unseat  and  launch  it 

A  whirling  globe  into  the  vast  of  space. 

And  when  from  Nature's  fields  he  shall  have  housed 

Heaped  harvests  of  fine  knowledge  —  potent  man 

Self-circled  with  beneficence — he  shall 

Unload  the  world  of  its  wide  misery. 

TANC.  Thy  mounting  words  wound  while  they  profit  me, 
Proclaiming  through  their  wisdom  my  great  loss, 
My  ears  condemned  to  fast  so  long  a  Lent. 

HOG.  Faith  is  a  common  virtue,  but  being  blind, 
Believers  fall  in  ditches.     Canst  not  think 
My  wits  can  ward  this  petty  banishment  ? 

TANC.  Dear  friend,  thou  know'st  how  easy  'tis  for  me 
To  trust  in  thee,  yielding  my  thought  to  thine. 
So  do  I  now ;  and  yet,  my  best  wits  flag, 
Contriving  how  thou  canst  escape  this  exile. 

ROG.  Dear  Tancred,  his  staid  courtiers  tell  the  King 
I  am  thy  evil  counsellor.     Their  plaint 
I  will  rebuke,  by  giving  thee  this  counsel : 
Think  not  so  well  of  kings,  so  ill  of  man. 
When  thou  art  king 


SCENE  I.]  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  41 

TANC.  Thou  shalt  be  the  king's  king, 

Through  thy  imperial  sovereignty  of  thought. 

HOG.  When  thou  art  king,  thou  wilt  forget  Prince  Tancred. 

TANC.  If  thee  I  do  forget  or  cease  to  love, 
May  my  heart  canker 

HOG.                                    Nay,  nay;  not  so  solemn. — 
Now,  touching  this  light  banishment,  thou  know'st, 
That  in  the  cozening  cozened  world  we  live  in, 
Rogue  Seem  does  half  the  work  of  honest  Be. 
I'll  make  him  work  for  us ;  I'll  seem  to  go 

TANC.  And  stay  ? 

ROG.  Not  only  in  security, 

But  so  that  from  my  shelter  I  can  fling, 
Faster  and  sharper  than  if  unconstrained, 
Weapons  of  edge  against  the  enemy. 
'Tis  a  device  will  win  thy  gladdest  plaudits. 
But  'tis  not  mine. 

TANC.  Not  thine ! 

ROG.  Within  thy  breast 

Dost  thou  not  nurse,  at  this  especial  hour, 
A  quickner  of  invention,  apter,  craftier, 
Than  all  ambitions  or  all  motions  else 
Could  ever  breed  ?  —  'Tis  Blanche's  thought — as  all 
That  now  I  have  are  hers,  howe'er  I  call  them — 
Which  kindles  in  my  brain  with  light  so  strong, 
It  gives  me  sudden  art  to  baffle  kings. 
Let's  haste  to  act  the  highborn  stratagem. 
When  I  unfold  it,  thou  shalt  make  me  vain 


42  THE   WILL   AND   THE    WAY.  [ACT  HI. 

With  mirthful  praise,  and  swear,  'twill  help  to  prove, 
That  where  there  is  a  will  there  is  a  way. 


SCENE  H. 
Apartment  of  Princess  MATILDA,  in  the  Palace. 

BERNARDO  alone. 

BERN.  The  footsteps  of  the  great  tread  out  rich  odors, 
Which  they  who  have  the  gift  can  scent  afar, 
Infallible  as  harriers  on  the  trail. 
For  me,  I've  sped  the  course  with  huntsman's  haste. 
Still  freshly  on  my  cheek  my  memory  feels 
The  strong  breath  of  repentant  peasant  knaves ; 
And  now  the  haughty  gates  of  palaces 
Obsequious  wheel  their  hinges  to  embrace  me. — 
The  air  is  here  with  double  perfume  laden ; 
But  while  I  revel  in  the  fragrancy, 
The  scented  peace  I'll  break,  using  the  princess 
To  subjugate  the  woman,  and  the  woman 
To  curb  the  princess.     'Tis  a  game  of  skill, 
Where  one  side  plays  in  light,  the  other  in  darkness. 
So  be  it  ever,  that  we  may  ever  win. 
And  so  it  should  be;  for,  the  good  of  light  — 
Chief  good  of  goods — would  lie  unfelt,  unhatched, 
Were  there  no  darkness  to  illuminate. 
And  so  it  shall  be  by  the  might  of  craft ; 
The  priestly  head,  like  Etna's  at  the  dawn, 
Blazing  for  aye  in  solitary  light. 


SCENE  II.]  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  43 

Enter  Princess  MATILDA. 

MATIL.  Good  father,  I  in  haste  have  sent  for  yon. 
'Tis  scarce  an  hour,  the  King  was  here,  to  urge 
My  instant  marriage  with  his  son,  Prince  Tancred. 

BERN.  Prince  Tancred  is  not  now  in  Syracuse  ? 
MATIL.  The  King  expects  him  daily. 

BERN.  This  is  sudden : 

And  has  some  sudden  cause.     Was  the  King  earnest  ? 

MATIL.  Most  earnest,  even  to  anger. 

BERN.  Ha  !  your  highness 

Rejected  then — 

MATIL.  I  only  craved  delay. 

This  crossed  the  King ;  surprised  as  well  as  vexed  him. 
He  left  me,  saying,  he  would  send  you  to  me. 
I  fear  I  have  done  wrong.     Now  help,  me,  father. 
Your  lesson  'twas  that  propped  my  falling  courage, 
And  stayed  me  'gainst  the  King's  warm  urgency. 

BERN.  Princess,  howe'er  it  seem,  even  to  yourself, 
I  stand  not  hostile  'twixt  the  King  and  you. 
The  King  is  my  liege  lord ;  and  my  allegiance 
Is  paid  as  fully  and  as  willingly 
As  by  the  readiest  subject  of  the  realm. 
My  holy  office  is  to  join,  not  sever : 
I  am  a  necessary  link  'twixt  you 
And  God ;  and  that  fine  chain  that  we  three  make, 
Can  not  be  broken  without  loss  to  each, 
Chiefly  to  you.     On  me,  Heaven  hath  imposed 
An  awful  trust — the  keeping  of  your  soul. 


44  THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAV.         [ACT  III. 

Princess,  your  conscience  busies  me  more  than  my  own. 

Its  safety  is  imperiled  by  this  marriage. 

The  prince  is  tainted  with  the  worst  of  crimes. 

MATIL.  In  Heaven's  name,  what  crime  1 

BERN.  With  heresy. 

MATIL.  With  heresy  !  so  young  :  it  is  not  so. 
What  proof  have  you  ?  so  modest,  gentle,  learned. 

BERN.  Learning  —  except  our  sacred  time-crowned  lore — 
Is  but  the  Devil's  trap  to  catch  weak  souls : 
It  turns  men  insolent  and  skeptical. 

MATIL.  And  that  Prince  Tancred  is  not,  can  not  be. 

BERN.  You  know  the  reputation  of  his  friend, 
Count  Roger 

MATIL.  Oh  !  I  hate  him. 

BERN.  And  with  cause. 

All  Sicily  should  hatp  the  infidel, 
The  irreverent,  audacious  questioner, 
From  whose  unchecked  espial  naught  is  safe. 
A  libertine  in  thought,  who  would  subject 
To  his  bold  sensuous  gaze  and  unclean  handling 
All  holiest  secrets  of  the  sky  and  earth. 
An  atheist  so  shameless,  he  would  cite 
Even  Rome's  divine  authority  to  trial, 
Deny  the  Pope  or  motion  of  the  Sun. 

MATIL.  Is  he  so  wicked  ? 

BERN.  Poisoned  to  the  core. 

MATIL.  The  prince,  good  father,  can  not  be  so  foul. 

BERN.  Naught  is  so  ductile  as  the  growing  mind. 


SCENE  II.]  THE    WILL    AND    THE    WAV.  45 

'Tis  shaped  by  what  is  nearest :  from  the  moulds, 
Open  beside  it  in  its  liquid  glow, 
It  takes  its  solid  form.     The  prince's  thought 
Is  Roger's  thought  engraft  on  Tancred's  stem, 
Whence  it  will  draw  sap  for  its  bitterness. 
As  easily  you  may  the  flame  untwist 
That  crackles  on  the  hearth,  and  to  each  fagot 
Its  individual  share  therein  allot, 
As  separate  Prince  Tancred's  thought  from  Roger's ; 
So  subtly  are  their  thinkings  interchanged. 
MATIL.  Father,  to-morrow  send  the  abbess  to  me. 

*  [Exit  MATILDA. 

BERNARDO  alone. 

If  our  affections  be  our  direst  foes — 

As  the  Church  teacheth,  that  doth  never  err — 

No  Paladin  did  ever  with  his  blade 

Do  more  protective  duty  to  a  princess 

Than  with  few  words  I  to  Matilda  now. 

Passion  to  quench  and  overmaster,  is, 

To  make  life  strong  and  pure. — Ha !  is  it  so  ? 

To  crush  is  not  to  kill.     The  affections  live, 

Wounded  but  deathless,  and  their  dripping  blood 

Begets  upon  the  wronged  despoiled  heart 

Feelings  that  churn  their  venom  as  they  crouch 

Within  the  caverns  of  the  memory. 

Re-enter  MATILDA. 

MATIL.  Father,  the  King  is  quick  and  peremptory ; 
And  royal  purposes  long  entertained, 


46  THE    WILL    AND    THE    WAY.  [ACT  TIT. 

Are  not  as  light  renounced  as  children's  toys. 

BERN.  Your  purposes  are  not  less  royal. 

MATIL.  For  a  woman 

"Tis  hard  to  stem  the  anger  of  a  man, 
And  he  a  King. 

BERN.  When  the  King  rages,  meet  him 

As  princess :  when  the  father  urges,  meet  him 
As  woman,  whose  affections  must  be  wooed, 
Not  bargained  for.     The  King — I  know  his  nature — 
Has  not  a  regal  stubbornness  of  will. 
Wilfully  blind  he  is,  like  other  fathers, 
And  sees  not  Tancred's  sinfulness. 

MATIL.  Oh!  father, 

He's  so  unthinking,  he  may  still  be  saved. 

BERN.  Only  through  providential  chastisement. 
Would  that  he  were  unthinking.     'Tis  his  fault 
To  think  too  much — the  worst  fault  he  can  have. 
Princess,  this  Roger; — I  have  that  to  tell  you, 
Will  make  the  frighted  blood  to  flee  your  cheek 
And  gallop  to  its  inward  citadel. 
It  is  a  secret  spied  by  spiritual  vision — 
The  privilege  of  consecrated  priests, 
Who,  through  this  heaven-imparted  insight,  wage 
Safe  war  against  demoniac  practices. 
Thy  piety,  so  purged  by  sacrifice, 
Is  of  a  quality  to  bear  the  trust. 

Torture  thy  spotless  heart  with  this  damned  knowledge : — 
Roger  of  Susa  is  the  Devil's  legate, 


SCENE  II.]  THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY.  47 

Commissioned  from  black  Hell,  with  special  office 
To  sap  the  prince  and  undo  Sicily. 

MATIL.  Father,  fail  not  to  send  the  abbess  to  me. 

\Exit  MATILDA. 
BERNARDO  alone. 

Strong  maladies  demand  strong  remedies. 
This  dose  will  either  kill  or  cure. — The  Devil 
Should  have  a  brazen  monument  at  Rome 
High  as  St.  Peter's.     What  were  priests  without  him? — 
Oh !  the  divinity  there  is  in  power, 
That  all  things  it  can  shape  to  instruments, 
Sharpening  invention  to  its  brightest  edge. 
To  govern,  is  to  dance  on  life's  top  wave, 
Erect  in  light,  above  the  darkened  crowd. 
For  us,  who  vow  ourselves  to  mystic  rites, 
And  thus  do  suicide  on  our  dearest  part, 
Murdering  sweet  love,  paternity  and  home, 
Power  is  our  single  joy.     But  ah  !  'tis  worth 
The  all  it  costs,  the  dedicated  priest 
So  high  it  lifts  on  pinnacles  unapproachable, 
Whence  common  men  look  prostrate  and  abased. 
Power  is  the  Almighty's  attribute — and  ours.  [Exit. 


48  THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY.         [AcT  IV. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE   L 
A  Hall  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  CONRADO  and  BARBARA,  meeting. 
* 
BARB.    Ha !    Conrado ;    the  very  man  I  wished  to  meet. 

Butlers  are  then  sometimes  in  the  right  place. 

CON.  Who  says  I  am  ever  in  the  wrong  place  ? 

BARB.  Nohody,  that  I  know  of. 

CON.  I  know  of  somebody  that  says  so. 

BARB.  Who? 

CON.  Myself.  For  I  say  I  am  in  the  wrong  place  now. 
So,  good-by,  Mrs.  Barbara. 

BARB.  What  now,  Mr.  Dignity  ?  will  you  play  off  your 
royal  airs  upon  me  ?  Though  you  live  in  a  palace,  I  know 
you.  Come,  answer  me  three  plain  questions ;  and  quickly, 
I'm  in  haste.  Has  the  Prince  quarrelled  with  his  father  ?  —  is 
Count  Roger  banished  ? — has  Princess  Matilda  gone  into  a 
convent  ? 

CON.  Princess  Matilda  gone  into  a  convent ! 

BARB.  That  you  don't  know  ;  the  rest  you  do. 

CON.  I  did  not  say  that. 

BARB.  No ;  but  I  say  it. 

CON.  Well,  if  the  count  is  banished,  I'm  glad  of  it. 


SCENE  I.]  THE    WILL   AND    THE    WAV.  49 

BARB.  I  thought  you  would  be. 

CON.,  Why  so  ? 

BARB.  Because  you  are  one  of  those  luckless  men  born 
with  your  heart  on  the  right  side  instead  of  the  left ;  so  that 
it  is  glad  and  sorry  in  the  wrong  place.  Give  this  paper  to 
the  prince. 

CON.  What's  in  it  ? 

BARB.  What's  that  to  you?  Are  you  inspector  of  peti- 
tions ?  'Tis  from  my  mistress,  the  lady  Rosalie. 

CON.  Papers  often  get  those  that  handle  them  into  trouble. 

BARB.  I  will  ask  you  one  question 

CON.  Mrs.  Barbara,  you  ask  too  many  questions.  That  is 
not  the  manners  of  us  in  the  palace. 

BARB.  No;  the  tongues  of  you  in  the  palace  move  not  to 
deliver  outwardly  words  and  thoughts;  but  to  deliver  in- 
wardly meats  and  drinks.  Conrado,  do  you  hope  to  outlive 
the  King  ? . 

CON.  The  King  is  a  score  of  years  my  elder,  so  there  is  no 
treason  in  thinking  that  I  may. 

BARB.  But  it  were  treason  to  yourself  to  forfeit  the  good 
will  of  a  king. 

CON.  That  it  would  be,  and  therefore 

BARB.  And  therefore  deliver  this  to  the  prince,  who  is 
prince  now  only  to  be  king  hereafter.  Will  you  not  learn, 
Conrado,  that  for  us  poor  servants  our  best  friends  are  the 
young.  The  young  are  generous  :  besides,  they  never  forget 
a  love-service.  He  who  does  it  is  laid  away  in  their  mem- 
ories between  two  kisses,  and  that  keeps  him  warm  in  their 


50  THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY.         [Acx  IY. 

,    regard  for  ever. — But  this  time  I  shall  not  be  beholden  to 
you  for  helping  me.     Here  is  the  prince  himself. 

Enter  TANCRED. 

May  it  please  you,  sir,  I  have  a  petition  to  your  highness. 

TANC.  Good  woman,  I  am  in  the  mood  to  grant  petitions, 
being  myself  most  wretched.  What  a  man-tamer  is  grief! 
Your  kings  are  too  happy.  Their  hearts  should  be  steeped 
every  night  in  private  sorrow,  that  their  eyes  might  distil  in 
tlje  day  loving  tears  enough  to  drown  their  subjects'  griefs. 
What  is  your  prayer?  [Opens  the  paper. \  Ha!  away  — 
they  come.  Hold  !  here  is  my  purse. 

[Retires  to  the  back  of  the  stage. 

BARB.  You  see  it  is  good  paper ;  I  get  gold  for  it.  This 
way,  Conrado ;  I  have  something  secret  to  say  to  you. 

CON.  No,  no ;  I  don't  like  secrets.     Go  your  ways. 

BARB.  [.4«'dfe.]  Have  I  lived  forty  years,  and  shall  I  not 
make  a  man  follow  me.  \She  holds  up  the  purse  at  him.  Con- 
rado follows  her.]  I  know  the  men.  [Exeunt. 

TANCRED  [advancing]. 

What  an  eclipse  is  here  !  Her  words  are  chilling  clouds 
that  overhang  the  light  beneath,  darkening  what  first  shone 
out  to  dazzle  and  delight  me — her  precious  name.  She 
speaks  of  ranks  and  dignities !  and  bids  me  cast  her  from  my 
thought.  Bid  the  earth  cast  off  the  sun,  dismiss  his  daily 
warmth,  then  blacken  in  the  rayless  air. —  I  must  see  her. 
But  how  ?  Roger  will  devise.  Whatever  can  be  done,  he 


SCENE  II.]  THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY.  51 

will  do  best  and  quickest.  But  for  my  love  for  him,  I  should 
envy  his  unchained  spirit,  so  self-less  strong,  so  apt  for  others' 
wants.  I  will  go  seek  him,  and  in  his  love  and  his  wisdom 
find  solace  and  direction.  •  \  Exit. 

SCENE  H. 
The  Same. 

Enter  King,  ORONTIO,  Chamberlain,  OSMOND,  ALPHONSO, 
MANFRED,  and  Attendants. 

KINO.  Where  is  this  messenger  from  Aragon  ? 
CHAM.  May  it  please  your  Majesty,  he  waits  without. 
KING.  Let  him  at  once  be  ushered  to  our  presence. 

[Exit  an  Attendant. 
I  hope  he  brings  good  tidings  from  our  cousin. 

Re-enter  Attendant  with  Messenger. 

Whate'er  your  mission,  sir,  I  bid  you  welcome. 
From  Aragon  I  look  for  naught  but  good. 

MESS.  Your  Majesty,  my  master  bade  me  greet  you 
With  phrases  built  of  warmest  epithets ; 
And  as  a  token  of  his  royal  love, 
Makes  me  the  bearer  of  a  present  to  you. 
Among  the  storerooms  of  his  memory, 
He  hath  not  one  so  richly  filled,  nor  one 
Whence  he  doth  draw  more  aliment  for  joy, 
Than  that  wherein  are  laid  the  deeds  and  words 
Acted  and  uttered  by  your  Majesty, 


52  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  [ACT  IV. 

When  he,  five  years  gone  by,  was  here  by  you 
So  royally  received.     Chiefly  doth  he 
Recall  —  quoting  them  oft  as  apothegms, — 
The  sayings  of  your  clown  — 

KING.  The  good  old  Nestor, 

A  friend  as  true  as  wise,  whom  now  I  mourn. 

MESS.  Learning  his  death,  and  knowing,  from  his  worth, 
How  great  a  loss  your  Majesty  hath  suffered, 
The  King  by  me  sends  you  his  favorite  clown, 
Praying,  that  you  will  use  him  as  your  own, 
And  find  in  him  some  solace  for  your  grief. 

KING.  'Tis  a  most  brotherly  and  kingly  act; 
And  for  the  loving  thought  that  prompted  it, 
Still  more  than  for  itself,  I  thank  the  King. 

MESS.  Francisco! 

Enter  COUNT  ROGER,  disguised  as  a  Clown. 

This,  sire,  is  the  man ;  and  though 

Free  with  his  tongue,  he  is  an  honest  fool. 

KING.  Welcome  to  Sicily,  honest  Francisco. 
I  hope  we  shall  be  friends.     Of  what  stuff  is  your  wit  ? 
Come,  hold  up  a  piece  of  it. 

ROG.  The  sharpest  axe  can  not  show  its  sharpness  on  the 
air. 

MANF.  Your  wit  then  is  dull ;  for  a  sharp  wit  can  make 
matter  for  itself  out  of  nothing. 

ROG.  Were  I  to  use  your  worship  for  my  wit-stone,  I  should 
do  a  miracle. 


SCENE  LL]  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  53 

MANF.  How  so  ? 

HOG.  By  making  something  out  of  nothing. 

ALL.  A  hit !  a  hit ! 

KIXG.  Well  opened,  fool.     Here's  money  for  you. 

HOG.  [to  MANFRED.]  Take  your  share  of  it. 

MANF.  Why  should  I  have  a  share? 

HOG.  Because  you  have  borne  the  burthen  of  my  wit.  In 
Spnin  we  always  feed  our  ass  when  we  stop  to  dine. 

ALL.  Good  again. 

MANF.  A  fool  and  his  money  are  soon  parted. 

HOG.  That's  for  the  King.  Sire,  do  you  always  give 
money  to  fools. 

KING.  Tt  is  my  custom. 

ROG.  Then  is  your  Majesty  the  greatest  spendthrift  in  your 
realm. 

KING,  [to  Messenger.]  Say  to  your  master,  that,  to  judge 
the  metal  by  its  ring,  he  has  sent  me  a  golden  gift. 

MESS.  By  your  Majesty's  permission,  I  will  now  aboard. 

KING.  Must  you  away  so  soon  ? 

MESS.  It  is  my  King's  command  that  I  return  at  once. 

KING.  Heaven  speed  you  with  a  prosperous  wind. 

MESS.  Francisco,  hast  thou  no  message  for  thy  old  mas- 
ter ? 

B.OG.  Commend  me  to  his  Majesty,  and  say  to  him,  that  I 
send  him  no  better  greeting  by  you,  not  because  I  have  none 
to  send ;  but  because  I  never  put  precious  things  into  brittle 
vessels. 

MESS.  I'll  report  you  fairly.  \Exif. 


54  THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY.         [ACT  IV. 

KING.  Chamberlain,  see  that  Francisco  be  well  cared- for. 
[Exeunt  King,  ORONTIO,  Chamberlain, 
and  Attendants,  followed  by  ROGER. 

OSMOND  and  ALPHONSO.  Fool !  fool !  stop,  fool ! 

[OsMOND  runs  after  him  and  plucks  him  by  the  arm. 

OSM.  Do  you  not  hear  us  call  ? 

ROG.  My  ears  heard  you,  but  how  was  my  understanding 
to  know  which  fool  you  were  calling  1 

OSM.  Canst  thou  be  trusted  with  a  nfessage  to  a  lady  ? 

ROG.  That  depends  somewhat  on  the  lady. 

OSM.  Excellent !     Thou  hast  had* successes,  Francisco? 

ROG.  Is  that  a  good  leg  ? 

OSM.  If  you  and  I  are  not  friends  it  will  be  no  fault  of 
mine. 

ALPH.  Well,  Francisco,  we  will  trust  you ;  you  have  an 
honest  face.  You  will  not  abuse  your  opportunities  for  your 
own  profit  against  your  friends  :  you'll  be  a  gentleman. 

ROG.  [to  OSMOND.]  Your  friend  is  an  Egyptian  ? 

OSM.  An  Egyptian ! 

ROG.  Surely  he  is  from  no  living  land,  his  notions  of  the 
gentleman  smack  so  of  antiquity. 

OSM.  He  is  a  noble  Sicilian,  good  Francisco ;  his  name 
Alphonso ;  mine  is  Osmond.  These  two  billets  are  for  the 
ladies  Rosalie  and  Blanche,  daughter  and  niece  of  the  King's 
prime  minister,  Orontio.  His  house  is  near  by.  This  deliver 
to  Rosalie  from  Alphonso,  this  to  Blanche  ffom  Osmond ; 
handle  this  to  whet  the  tongue  of  our  envoy ;  go  and  come  as 
quickly  as  you  can,  and  your  purse  shall  not  be  the  lighter 


SCEXE  III.]  THE    WILL    AND   THK    WAY.  .55 

for  your  quickness.     [Exeunt,  followed  by  MANFRED,  who  runs 
back  and  calls  after  the  clown.] 

MANF.  As  thou  seemest  to  know  the  value  of  gold,  take 
this. 

ROG.  'Tis  easier  taken  than  earned.  Gold  grows  here  as 
plenty  as  garlic. 

MANF.  That  is  for  this,  [giving  a  billet,]  the  which  deliver 
into  the  hands  of  the  lady  Blanche.  Tell  her,  it  comes 
from  Count  Manfred  of  Palermo ;  on  hearing  the  which,  she 
will  read  it  on  the  spot.  Bring  me  word  that  she  has  done 
so,  and  thy  fee  shall  he  doubled.  Th'ese  lords  of  Syracuse 
know  not  the  value  of  a  love  messenger. 

Roc.  I'll  he  sworn  they  thought  in  their  hearts,  as  we  four 
stood  here  together,  that  we  were  two  wise  men  and  two 
fools. 

MANF.  Egad,  I'm  of  the  same  opinion ;  what  say  you  ? 

ROG.  I  like  an  humble  seeming ;  so,  let  us  not  exalt  our- 
selves, but  only  take  them  down  a  peg ;  and,  for  the  sake  of 
modesty  in  speech,  just  say,  we  were  four  fools. 

[Exeunt  severally. 

SCENE  HI. 
A  room  in  Orontio's  Jiouse. 

ROSALIE  and  BLANCHE. 

BLAN.  Where  is  thy  wit  ?     Loose  it  upon  thyself, 
To  whip  this  girlish  humor  out  of  thee. 

Ros.  No  more,  sweet  Blanche.     Oh !    would  I'd  been  a 
milkmaid. 


56  THE    WILL    A\D    THE    WAY.  [Ad  IV. 

BLAN.  Had  then  thy  love  been  bounded  to  thy  cows? 
As  milkmaid  thou  belike  hadst  soiled  thy  pail 
With  tear-drops  from  a  wound  more  hopeless  yet. 
Love  mocks  at  ranks  and  man-devised  divisions. 
Cupid  delights  to  be  a  mischief-maker, 
Levelling  in  a  night  the  reverend  bournes 
That  have  for  ages  stood  against  encroachment. 

Ros.  Henceforth  I'll  hate  all  princes. 

BLAN.  '    Save  one,  dear  coz. 

Ros.  And  Naples  with  its  balmy  Circean  air — 
Would  that  Vesuvius  'neath  a  fiery  flood 
Had  drowned  its  treacherous  shores,  ere  I  had  known  them. 

BLAN.  How  quick  time  flies ;  or  was't  but  yesterday 
Thou  chidst  thy  tongue  for  that  it  would  not  forge 
Words  warm  enough  to  paint  that"  Paradise, 
Where  thou  hadst  been  reborn ; —  that  was  the  phrase. 

Ros.  Resolve  me  now,  wise  Blanche ; — For  thou  art  one 
That  lov'st  to  poise  things  in  thy  silent  brain, 
To  find  their  axis,  rather  than  to  bark  them 
With  trivial  tongue; — resolve  me,  why  it  is, 
That  I,  against  my  will,  am  robbed  of  will  1 
Why  suddenly  disseated  from  my  throne 
Of  self-controlment,  the  most  secret  chambers 
Of  my  high  sovereign  mind  by  stranger  thoughts 
Rudely  invaded,  their  old  furniture 
Thrust  into  corners,  while  the  invaders  seize 
Amazed  authority ;  and  captive  I, 
Having  nor  power  nor  wish  to  make  obstruction  — 


: 


SCENE  III.]  THE   WILL   AMD   THE   WAY.  57 

As  though  I'd  drunk  some  deep  transforming  drug — 
Look  wildly  on  in  a  strange  passiveness. 

BLAN.  Thou  hast  drunk  deeply  of  a  subtle  drug, 
And  art  transformed  with  its  swift-coursing  juice. 
But  'tis  a  transformation  like  to  that, 
When  in  a  tardy  spring  th'  impatient  Sun, 
Piercing  the  cold  flanks  of  the  clodded  Earth 
With  his  hot  shafts,  wakes  her  to  procreant  life, 
To  fill  her  brow  with  bloom,  her  lap  with  fruit ; 
Or  when  in  a  dark  cave  sudden  is  brandished 
A  flaming  torch,  by  whose  creative  fire  > 
New  treasures  are  unbarred,  now  first  beheld 
By  eyes  staring  in  a  pleased  wilderment. 
Thou  art  bewildered  at  the  wealth  of  thought, 
Unsealed  by  heat  from  thy  new-lighted  heart, 
Which  so    illumes    the  mind's  vast  territory, 
That  things  formless  before,  start  into  shape, 
To  maze  thee  with  their  boldness  and  their  beauty ; 
And  wishes,  hitherto  unuttered,  rule 
With  anjmperial  sweetness  of  allurement, 
That  makes  their  tyranny  a  blessedness. 
The  present  throbs  so  with  a  restless  motion, 
It  is  not  big  enough  to  hold  thy  life, 
Which  overruns  into  a  new-born  future, 
That  swells  and  stretches  into  solemn  depths, 
Crowding  itself  with  costly  images. 
Thou  art  indeed  transformed,  dear  Rosalie ; 

Thou  art  not  what  thou  wast  a  month  ago ; — 

3* 

•, 


5S  THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY.        [Acx  IV. 

And  wouldst  not  be ;  no,  not  for  the  whole  world. 

Ros.  No,  that  I  would  not ;  for  I  then  should  part 
From  my  dear  Blanche,  who  is  no  more  herself, 
And  needs  soft  tending  in  her  lunacy. 
Why,  coz,  so  many  words  thou  never  spok'st 
In  one  long  day  as  in  this  single  breath. 
Thine  was  the  stillest  tongue  in  Syracuse. 
And  words  so  fit  and  voluble.     Good  Blanche, 
'Tis  thou  needst  comforting :  how  can  I  cheer  thee  ? 

BLAN.  By  bringing  me  a  note  like  that  thou  hadst. 

Ros.  And  wilt  thou  give  like  answer  to  it  too  ? 

BLAN.  Nay,  but  the  count  is  not  a  royal  prince ; 
>And  if  he  were,  I'm  not  so  proud  as  thou. 

Ros.  Happy  in  that :  pride  is  the  thorn  of  love. 
Still  happier,  that  thy  love  is  not  misjoined. — 
The  count,  if  banished,  had  no  time  to  write. 

BLAN.  To  lovers  true,  time  never  can  be  wanting, 
To  do  love's  duties. 

Ros.  Dost  thou  doubt  his  truth  ? 

BLAN.  I'd  sooner  doubt  myself.     So  far  from  that,.. 
Because  he  does  not  write,  I  doubt  he's  banished. 

Enter  BARBARA. 

BARB.  Oh !  mistresses,  here's  the  new  court-fool, 
Francisco ;  the  sauciest  wag. 

Ros.  I  so  like  a  clown.     Bring  him  in,  Barbara. 
[Exit  BARBARA.]  Blanche  and  I  are  just  in  the  mood  to  hold 
parley  with  a  fool. 


SCEXE  III.]  THE    WILL    Ai\D    THE    WAY.  59 

Re-Enter  BARBARA  with  COUNT  ROGER. 
Welcome  to  Syracuse,  Francisco.    Thou  canst  but  thrive  here. 
Under  our  sun  folly  ripens  faster  than  figs. 

HOG.  I'  faith,  your  ladyship,  the  crop  looks  promising. 

Ros.  Tell  me,  Francisco,  why  young  people  are  so  fond  of 
fools  \  I  hope  there's  no  sin  in  it. 

ROG.  In  you  it  is  a  twofold  virtue ;  for  the  young  like  fools 
because  only  fools  speak  the  truth ;  and  young  women  like 
them,  because,  did  they  not,  few  of  them  would  get  husbands. 

Ros.  When  I  get  one,  he  shall  pay  you  twenty  ducats  for 
that  speech. 

ROG.  May  your  ladyship  be  married  to-morrow. 

Ros.  That's  not  easy ;  masculine  candidates  for  matrimony 
are  ever  scarce. 

ROG.  So  are  fish  on  the  top  of  the  water :  but,  sink  yotfr 
hook  well  baited,  and  you  are  sure  to  have  a  bite. 

Ros.  So,  you  would  have  husbands  angled  for. 

ROG.  'Tis  the  modern  fashion.  But  here  at  your  court  men 
have  turned  anglers,  and  use  my  fingers  for  hooks.  This  is  to 
catch  the  Lady  Rosalie.  [ROSALIE  seizes  the  note  and  opens  it] 
This  for  the  Lady  Blanche  from  Signer  Osmond.  [BLANCHE 
takes  the  note  with  indifference.} 

Ros.  Francisco,  this  is  for  shallow  water. 

ROG.  \to  BLANCHE.]  Will  you  bite  at  this,  from  Count  Man- 
fred of  Palermo  ] 

BLAN.  That  is  a  golden  hook,  without  bait. 
Which  of  the  three  dost  thou  like  best  ? 

ROG.  The  Palerman  gentleman. 


60  THE    WILL    AND    THE    WAY.  [Ad   IV. 

BLAN.  Wherefore? 

HOG.  [  Taking  out  the  purse.]     He  pays  best. 

BLAN.  Art  thou  so  mercenary  ? 

EOG.  I  but  allow  its  due  weight  to  what  is  weighty.  The 
universal  measurer  of  values  is  gold.  Does  not  God  plant 
gold  —  do  not  men  reap  it  —  do  not  kings  coin  it — do  not 
philosophers  seek  it — ido  not  priests  love  it  —  do  not  women 
spend  it]  Shall  a  fool  despise  what  all  men  and  women 
prize  ? 

BLAN.  As  thou  thinkest  the  note  is  worth  the  gold  thou 
hadst  for  it,  by  giving  it  back  to  thee  thy  wealth  will  be 
doubled.  [Offering  the  note.] 

HOG.  Nay,  it  is  but  blank  paper  unread  by  your  ladyship. 
As  the  best  soil  bears  no  fruit  till  visited  by  the  sun,  this  page 
is  barren  till  it  be  warmed  by  light  from  your  eyes. 

BLAN.  Lest  it  yield  briers,  I  withhold  the  light. 

ROG.  Then  will  you  make  yourself  a  party  to  a  sin. 

BLAN.  How  so  ? 

HOG.  By  making  me  commit  that  of  lying.  For  on  my 
bringing  word,  that  I  saw  you  read  his  note,  the  count  prom- 
ised me  a  purse  of  gold ;  and  whoever  in  these  times  will 
not  lie  to  compass  a  purse,  had  better  get  himself  buried  :  he'll 
rot  even  if  he  stays  above  ground. 

Ros.  Thou  art,  I  fear,  a  hardened  sinner,  Francisco. 
What's  the  news  at  court  to-day  ? 

BLAN.  Is  the  prince  to  marry  the  princess  Matilda  ? 

Ros.  Is  Count  Roger  banished  ? 

ROG.  I  must  back  to  the  king. — But  first  I'll  answer  your 


SCENE  III.J  THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY.  Gl 


questions.     [Gives  them  each  a  note,  then  exit 

BLAN.  [After  they  have  eagerly  read  the  notes.]  Cousin,  what 
tbinkst  thou  of  Francisco  ? 

Ros.  How  canst  thou  think  of  him  at  all  ? 

BLAN.  I  can  think  of  nothing  else. 

Ros.  And  that  note  —  from  whom  is  it? 

BLAN.  From  Francisco. 

Ros.  His  hand  delivered  it  ;  but  whose  hand  wrote  it  ? 

BLAN.  Francisco's. 

Ros.  Francisco,  Francisco's  !  Dear  Blanche,  thou  art  be- 
side thyself. 

BLAN.  Read.     [Giving  her  the  note.\ 

Ros.  [Reads.]  "  I  have  thought  it  wise  to  make  folly  the 
servant  to  love.  Judge  of  thy  power  over  Roger  by  the 
depth  of  his  transformation  ;  and  believe,  that  he  who  walks 
in  a  fool's  cap  to  win  thee,  would  rather  lie  in  his  shroud  than 
lose  thee. 

"  As  I  to  you 
So  is  the  prince  to  your  cousin  true. 

"  FRANCISCO." 

BLAN.  Put  an  absolute  faith  in  the  last  line  ;  for  you  know, 
"  only  fools  speak  the  truth." 

Ros.  Thou  puttest  faith  in  every  line. 

BLAN.  That  I  did  before  I  read  theta.  Cousin,  without 
faith,  love  could  not  be  born  ;  and  once  born,  therein  sprouts 
the  grain  wherefrom  he  feeds.  So  your  majesty  should  set 
your  royal  mind  at  ease. 

Ros.  My  majesty  will  follow  thy  good  council,  wise  Blanche. 


62  THE    WILL    AND   THE   WAY.  [ACT  IV. 

— I  have  read  of  a  lady,  who  from  a  rank  not  higher  than 
mine  was  lifted  to  one  of  the  mightiest  thrones  of  the  earth 
by  her  lover ;  and  he,  not,  like  Tancred,  endowed  with  a  rec- 
titude and  nobleness  of  nature  that  made  his  every  act  a  pre- 
cedent for  the  best,  but,  a  polluted,  perjured,  bloodsmeared 
miscreant.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  I.J  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  G3 


ACT  V. 

SCENE  I. 

A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
COUNT  ROGER  alone. 

ROG.  [taking  off  his  fool's  cap .]  Despised  symbol  of  folly, 
how  I  honor  thee  !  Badge  of  lowness,  how  I  love  thee  !  Sad 
will  be  the  day  when  we  part.  Thou  art  a  canopy  against 
base  uses  :  a  flag  of  truce  among  enemies.  Thou  art  a  mitre, 
for  thou  consecratest  me ;  a  crown,  for  thou  givest  me  power. 
Under  thee  I  can  speak  more  plainly  than  a  bishop,  I  am 
freer  than  a  king. — What  a  heels-orer-head  world  it  is,  where 
contempt  may  be  turned  into  a  handle  of  strength,  where  a 
mask  is  the  best  wedge  to  gain  entrance  for  truth,  where  de- 
ception becomes  honest  and  folly  wise.  But  for  weeping,  I 
could  be  the  happiest  man  in  the  world  by  doing  naught  but 

laugh  at  it.     But  just  now  there  is   something  higher  to  do. 

• 

Our  plot  thrives  :  we  must  be  armed  for  its  crisis.  The  King 
is  passionate  though  kindly,  and  Orontio  loyal  and  stern. 
Their  next  act  may  be  harsh.  Already  the  people  murmur 
at  my  banishment,  which  comes  near  to  the  prince ;  and  if 
Tancred  himself  be  touched,  it  would  be  easy,  out  of  their 


64  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  [AcT  V. 

anger  to  make  a  rampart  or  a  battery ;  for  they  value  and 
love  him.  'Tis  so  easy  for  a  prince  to  be  beloved.  Was 
there  ever  a  good  one  that  was  not  ?  Let  the  powerful  be 
godlike,  and  men  become  angels  in  their  cheerful  obedience. 
Here  comes  the  King  in  haste ;  I'll  stand  apart. 

Enter  King,  with  Attendants. 

KING.  They  defy,  and  would  deceive  me.  They  shall 
know  me  better.  Go  quickly  [to  an  Attendant]  to  father 
Bernardo :  command  him  to  our  presence.  The  brazen 
priest!  I'll  melt  his  brass  !  —  [  To  another  Attendant.]  Sum- 
mon Orontio ;  say  the  King  would  see  him  instantly.  They 
shall  learn  that  I  can  unmake  them  faster  than  I  made  them. 
The  ingrates !  To  uphold  my  son  and  niece  in  their  contu- 
macy. The  traitors  !  And  they,  Matilda  and  Tancred  —  am 
I  not  their  father,  uncle,  king  ?  Would  they  beard  me  ? 
would  they  rebel  ?  By  Heaven!  I'll  tame  them  —  I'll 

ROG.  [running  forward.]  A  drum,  a  drum !  I  beg  your 
Majesty  for  a  drum. 

KING.  Dost  thou  trifle,  knave  ? 

ROG.  Not  I ;  for  the  King  of  Aragon  gave  me  a  drum  ! 

KING.  What  for  ? 

ROG.  To  choke  the  ears  of  an  angry  man,  that  he  might 
not  hear  himself  speak;  and  so,  save  his  conscience  from 
nettles. 

KING.  Rogue,  I'll  have  thee  whipped. 

ROG.  Will  the  lashes  thou  givest  me  heal  the  gashes  thy 
tongue  gives  thyself? 


SCENE  I.J  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  65 

KING.  Francisco,  I  am  betrayed :  I  want  a  friend. 

HOG.  I  never  had  but  one,  and  he  never  betrayed  me. 

KING.  A  priceless  friend !  who  was  he  ? 

HOG.  Myself. 

KING.  Thou  art  a  wise  fool. 

HOG.  Was  your  Majesty  ever  in  love  ? 

KING.  Ha !  Know'st  thou  what  thou  dost  ?  Francisco, 
thou  wakest  a  bitter  memory. 

HOG.  False? 

KING.  Nay,  nay :  she  was  made  of  truth ;  by  nature  most 
royal,  but  not  by  blood.  Oh !  Francisco,  Francisco  !  Wilt 
thou  think  it ;  oft  did  I  curse  my  crown,  that  bade  my  heart 
cease  its  rapturous  throbs,  and  when  it  could  not,  turned  them 
to  aches.  Even  now,  at  times,  those  days,  darting  across  the 
waste  of  years,  suddenly  confront  me,  like  ruined  spirits  up- 
braiding me  for  a  wrong. 

HOG.  A  great  wrong  to  both. 

KING.  I  have  expiated  it. 

E.OG.  But  half,  if  thou  hast  a  son.  One  of  the  privileges 
of  a  father — the  dearest — is,  from  his  errors  to  distil  wisdom 
for  the  bracing  of  his  child  ;  whitening  for  him  with  the  me- 
ridian sun  of  experience,  clouds  such  as  darkened  his  own 
life's  morning;  and  thus,  by  extracting  from  ancier.t  pangs 
health  for  his  child,  to  create  for  himself  a  joy  deeper  than 
any  that  Fate  had  crushed. 

KING.  How  much  thou  remindest  me  of  the  good  Nestor, 
Francisco.  We'll  talk  further.  —  Here  comes  Orontio. 


66  THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY.         [ACT  V. 

Enter  ORONTIO. 

It  gives  me  pain,  Orontio,  to  believe 
That  thou  wouldst  counterwork  the  purposes 
Of  thy  liege  sovereign,  and  countenance 
The  disobedience  of  the  prince,  my  son. 

ORON.  If  that  your  Majesty's  old  servant  could 
So  far  unlearn  the  lesson  of  his  duty, 
A  sterner  punishment  would  he  deserve 
Than  ever  yet  your  lenient  heart  pronounced. 

KING.  The  prince's  wayward  love  for  Rosalie 
Is  not  unknown  to  you. 

ORON.  On  bare  suspicion 

Of  aught  so  mutinous  I've  schooled  my  daughter, — 
She  not  unapt  to  learn  her  loyal  part. 

KING.  'Tis  well,  Orontio,  well :  I  was  too  hasty. 
Thy  calm  fidelity,  I  should  have  known, 
Were  proof  against  even  an  undnteous  thought. 
Tancred  I  shall  forbid  to  see  your  daughter. 
But  he,  being  warm  and  wilful,  may  not  heed 
Such  prohibition.    Wherefore  I  commit 
His  disobedience  to  your  watchfulness ; 
With  order,  that  you  punish  with  arrest 
The  breach  of  my  command. 

ORON.  'T  is  a  harsh  office 

Your  Majesty  imposes. 

KING.  Be  it  so. 

Harshness  and  duty  are  at  times  one  act. 


SCEXB  L]  THE    WILL    AND   THE   WAY.  67 

This  act  is  mine :  your  warrant  is  from  me. 
Use  that,  and  send  him  guarded  to  his  chamber. 
The  rebel  must  be  cropped  before  he  blossom. 

ROG.  Did  your  Majesty  ever  ride  on  a  mule  backward  ? 

KINO.  No,  fool. 

Roo.  'T  is  an  exercise  I  commend  to  your  Majesty. 

KING.  Wherefor? 

HOG.  "Why,  when  the  stubborn  rascal  kicks  up  behind  he 
kicks  into  your  face. 

KING.  What's  that  to  the  point? 

HOG.  It's  the  best  point  whence  to  behold  the  effect  of 
blows  on  a  self-willed  brute. 

Enter  BERNARDO. 

KING.  Bernardo,  what  means  this  sudden  passion  of  Matilda 
for  a  convent  ?  The  affections  of  a  princess  should  obey  her 
confessor ;  and  thou  didst  give  me  to  think  the  will  of  Matilda 
lay  in  thy  hand. 

BERN.  My  presumption  is  rebuked  by  the  princess's  piety. 
Her  will  has  been  moulded  by  a  higher  than  I  am.  Priests 
can  do  much :  they  are  not  omnipotent. 

ROG.  That's  a  truth ;  and  if  his  reverence  has  many  such 
he  undoes  a  proverb  we  have  in  Spain. 

KING.  What's  that  1 

ROG.  That  a  priest's  pate  is  as  full  of  lies  as  a  virtuous  hen 
is  of  eggs  at  Easter. 

BERN.  Profane  trifler,  keep  thy  buffooneries  for  occasions 
that  fit  them. 


68  THE   WILL   A\D   THE   WAY.  [ACT  V. 

KING.  Nay,  Bernardo ;  if  with  our  wit  we  can  not  parry 
the  fool's  thrusts,  we  must  do  it  with  our  consciences. 

HOG.  So  that  reverences  that  have  neither  conscience  nor 
wit  must  keep  out  of  the  fool's  way. 

BERN.  I  wonder  that  your  Majesty  takes  delight  in  this 
fellow's  unwashed  insolence. 

HOG.  If  things  were  found  only  where  they  give  delight, 
your  face,  sir  priest,  would  be  for  ever  fixed  before  a  looking- 


BERN.  Scoundrel,  but  for  this  presence  I  would  chastise 
thee. 

HOG.  Lighten  as  yon  will,  sir,  you  have  but  one  quality  of 
thunder — your  face  would  turn  cream. 

KING.  Enough,  enough,  Francisco. — Bernardo,  priestly 
government  having  failed  to  rule  the  princess,  royal  shall  be 
tried.  Return  hither  two  hours  hence  to  witness  the  trial. 
Matilda  and  Tancred  shall  both  be  here.  Orontio,  bring 
hither  Rosalie  and  Blanche,  and  let  Alphonso,  Osmond,  and 
Count  Manfred,  be  summoned.  The  welfare  of  these  young 
people  must  be  guarded  against  their  ignorance  and  the  cru- 
dity of  their  wills.  [Exeunt. 

ROG.  [before  going  off.]  A  few  people  grow  wiser  as  they 
grow  older ;  but  kings  are  not  of  the  number. 


SCENE  II.]  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  69 

SCENE  H. 
A  Room  in  Orontio's  House. 

Enter  EOSALIE. 

Eos.  Why  so  much  dread  what  I  so  much  desire  ? 
His  coming  I  do  fear ;  and  came  he  not, 
I'd  rail  at  fear  that  it  had  banished  him. 
My  weakness  will  be  yet  too  strong  for  me. 
Pride  and  my  maiden  modesty,  where  are  ye  ? 
Gone  with  the  vaunted  puissance  of  my  will, — 
Cold  vapors  drunk  by  the  spring  sun  of  love; 
Leaving  me  pervious  as  the  lake's  white  breast, 
Defenceless  bared  to  thirsty  summer's  beams, 
Which  quiver  flaming  through  its  mystic  depths. 
I  am  as  helpless  as  an  unweaned  child. 
Why  not  as  innocent  ? — Come,  helpful  Truth, 
Be  thou  my  strength  !     Gird  me  against  myself, 
Against  Self-Love's  perfidious  subtleties. 
Away,  low  Fear !  vile  serf  to  Falsity. 
Proud  Boldness,  come !  brother  to  high-bred  Candor. 
Away,  too,  virgin  Coyness  !  for  to  Truth 
Even  youngest  Modesty  can  trust  herself, 
And  wilt  no  blossom  of  her  roseate  wreath. 

Enter  TANCRED. 

TANC.  Fair  Rosalie,  a  dearer  privilege 
Than  this  I  count  not  in  my  favored  life. 
Ros.  Your  highness'  generosity  misnames 


70  THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY.          [ACT  V. 

A  privilege  what  is  a  simple  right, 

Won  by  your  rank  ere  'twas  so  by  your  kindness. 

TANC.  The  breath  that  calls  me  kind  proves  you  unkind. 

Ros.  Then  are  my  words  blind  traitors  to  their  speaker. 

TANC.  Speaking  of  rank,  which  was  not  in  your  thought  ? 

Ros.  Nor  I,  nor  any  one,  nay,  not  yourself, 
Can  think  of  you  disjointed  from  your  rank. 
Rank  is  a  something  grows  into  the  blood  : 
^You  can  not  throw  it  off  as  'twere  a  cloak. 

TANC.  If  it  do  cumber  me  I  can  and  will. 

Ros.  You  are  so  cumbered  for  the  general  good. 
Unlike  to  low-born  care,  which  drags  down  lower, 
Your  burthen  lifts  you  on  its  loftiness, 
Bearing  along  promoted  multitudes. 
Oh !  'tis  divine,  to  sit  upon  a  seat, 
So  sacred  high,  so  founded  in  its  might, 
That,  issuing  thence,  deeds  are  medicinal, 
Blessing  with  ceaseless  flood  the  fevered  million, 
And  words  outvoice  Olympian  thunderbolts. 

TANC.  You  make  me  fall  in  love  with  royalty, 
So  grandly  you  conceive  its  righteous  office. 
The  throne,  till  now  a  barren  steep,  looms  up 
A  longed-for  tufted  island ;  while  in  thee, 
Imagination  kindling  on  itself, 
Brandishes  her  torch  and  beckons  thee  to  follow 
To  that  proud  seat  thy  words  so  deftly  build, 
There  to  enring  thy  temples  with  a  crown, 
The  tribute  of  a  heart  grown  rich  through  thee. 


SCENE  II.]  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  71 

Ros.  Prince,  your  heart  beats  not  for  yourself  alone : 
Within  it  palpitates  a  Nation's  life. 
You  are  too  large  for  private  joy  or  grief, 
Which  melt  before  the  sun  of  public  needs. 
Custom  and  fitness  and  paternal  law, — 
Whose  triple  strength  holds  duty  in  their  thrall, — 
O'errule  a  prince's  destiny.     For  me 
You  are  too  high,  and  I  for  you  too  low. 
Submit  me  to  our  lots — which  are  so  blest, 
That  to  complain  of  them  were  blasphemy — 
And  our  first  meeting  let  us  look  upon 
As  Fortune's  spiteful  trickery,  wherewith 
She  takes  delight  to  baffle  mortal  wills. 

TANC.  To  mould  one's  destiny  is  nobler  far 
Than  to  inherit  it  j  and  to  a  will 
Steadfast  and  crafty,  Fortune  proves  a  coward, 
Who  yields,  then  serves  whom  she  had  combated. 
But  better  can  I  triumph  over  her, 
Throwing  away  her  sugared  poisonous  gifts, 
And  from  the  dangerous  throne  leaping  down  gladly 
Into  thy  arms.     For  this  there's  precedent. 
Often  have  kings  descended  from  their  seats; 
Sometimes  by  willing  resignation  ;  oftener 
By  noiseless  force  of  hostile  circumstance, 
Or  harsh  constraint  of  prosperous  adversaries. 
And  shall  not  I  —  untasted  yet  the  sweets 
Of  that  great  feast,  whose  thoughts  have  never  swum 
On  royal  hopes,  committed  as  they  are 


72  THE    WILL    AND    THE    WAY.  [ACT  V. 

To  Nature's  deeper  joys,  and  calm  pursuit 

Of  holy  knowledge  —  shall  not  I  descend, 

When — like  glad  snowflakes  that  come  swiftly  dancing 

From  freezing  heights,  to  melt  them  on  the  warm  earth 

And  swell  its  fruitful  currents — my  descent 

Shall  be  from  frosty  gloom  to  sunny  joy. 

But  no  :  I  will  not  down ;  thou  shalt  mount  with  me. 

For  nothing  less  than  queen  did  Nature  mould  thee 

Enter  from  behind,  ORONTIO,  with  Guards. 
In  such  pre-eminent  proportions 

ORON.  Prince,  I  arrest  you  by  the  King's  high  order. 

TANC.  Arrest  me  !     What  new  tyranny  is  this  ? 

ORON.  You,  Rosalie,  withdraw  into  your  chamber. 

\Exit  ROSALIE. 

TANC.  Am  I  a  common  subject  of  the  King, 
That  he  thus  outrages  my  will  and  person  1 

ORON.   Your  highness  knows  me  for  the  crown's  sworn 

servant, 
Who  execute  commands  unquestioning. 

TANC.  I  will  obey.     Lead  on  then  to  the  prison. 

ORON.  Your  highness  is  no  vulgar  prisoner. 
Your  own  apartment  is  your  prison,  till 
His  Majesty  shall  please  thence  to  release  you. 

TANC.  His  Majesty  may  find  it  not  so  easy 
To  get  me  out  as  put  me  in.     Lead  on.  [Exit,  guarded. 

ORONTIO,  alone. 
It  is  a  fratricidal  combat,  bitter 


SCENE  in.]  THE  WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  73 

» 
And  cruel,  when  duty  and  love  conflict. 

This  is  the  roughest  day  that  e'er  I  lived. — 

Others  must  do  the  rest.  —  What  a  great  light 

Blazes  above  my  house  so  suddenly  ! 

Shall  it  be  quenched  ?     Man  should  not  be  so  tempted. — 

My  daughter,  my  beautiful  child  !     Thou  art, 

As  never  woman  was,  fit  for  a  throne. — 

God's  will  be  done,  not  mine.  \Exit. 


SCENE  m. 

A  Hall  in  the  Palace. 

Enter  ALPHONSO,  OSMOND,  MANFRED,  severally. 

ALPH.  Heard  you  the  news  ? 

OSM.  Prince  Tancred  is  arrested. 

ALPH.  Ay,  in  Orontio's  house,  by  the  King's  order. 

MANP.  For  what  ? 

OSM.  For  disobedience  to  the  King. 

ALPH.  And  love  for  Rosalie.  The  King  desires  his  mar- 
riage with  Matilda.  He  refuses,  and  seeking  interview  with 
Rosalie,  was  by  her  father,  in  her  presence,  arrested. 

MANF.  Have  you  been  summoned  hither  by  the  king  ? 

ALPH.  I  have. 

OSM.  And  so  have  I. 

MANF.  What  may  this  mean  ? 

ALPH.  We  soon  shall  know ;  here  comes  his  majesty. 

4 


74  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  [Ad  V. 

Entering,  Chamberlain,  Attendants,  ROGER,  as  cloicn,on  one 
side;  on  the  other,  ORONTIO,  ROSALIE,  BLANCHE,  BERNARDO. 

KING.  Chamberlain,  where  is  the  princess  ? 

CHAM.  This  letter,  addressed  to  your  majesty,  just  now  de- 
livered into  my  hands,  is  from  her  highness. 

KING.  Read  it,  Orontio. 

ORON.  [Reads.]  "  I  beseech  the  King  to  forgive  me :  I  be- 
seech my  father  to  forgive  me.  The  hand  of  Q-od  has  guided 
my  blind  footsteps,  and  led  me  to  the  convent  of  St.  Cecilia  as 

my  only  home  on  earth. 

"  MATILDA." 

KING.  Poor  child  !  too  good  art  thou  to  need  forgiveness  of 
guilty  man.  Well ;  it  may  be  thou  hast  done  the  best  for  thy- 
self. Thou  wast  too  guileless  for  this  pitfall  of  a  world. 

[A  tumult  heard  without.] 
What  is  that  noise  ? 

CHAM.  \Coming  from  the  window]  The  people,  sire  de- 
mand that  the  prince  be  liberated. 

KING.  Where  is  the  prince  ?     He  should  be  here. 

AN  ATT.  Sire,  he  refuses  to  leave  his  room. 

KING.  Command  him  in  our  name.  [Exit  Attendant. 

[Tumult  increases.] 
Where  is  the  captain  of  the  guard  ? 

Enter  Captain. 

Captain,  what  means   this   mob   at   the   very  gates   of  the 
Palace  ? 

CAPT.  Tour  majesty,  it  is  no  common  mob.  The  people 
are  assembled  in  a  multitude  of  many  thousands. 


SCENE  III.]  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  75 

Re-Enter  Attendant. 

ATT.  Sire,  I  delivered  your  command  to  the  prince.  His 
highness  bids  me  dutifully  say  to  your  Majesty,  that  he  prays 
you  to  give  him  his  liberty.  Here  he  would  be  no  freer  than 
in  his  chamber ;  and  so  he  refuses  to  quit  it. 

KL\G.  Besieged  in  our  palace  by  our  people,  and  our  son 
claiming  to  be  absolved  from  our  rule.  Be  it  so.  Tell  Prince 
Tancred  he  shall  be  free  to  do,  go,  speak,  act,  as  he  in  his 
ripe  wisdom  shall  choose.  \Exit  Attendant.]  Captain,  throw 
open  the  portals  of  the  Palace  to  the  populace,  and  bid  the 
new  sovereign  take  possession.  [Exit  Captain.]  Francisco, 
we  will  teach  you  in  Sicily  things  that  you  would  never  have 
learnt  in  Spain. 

ROG.  I  am  glad,  sire,  to  profit  so  much  by  travel.  Spain 
is  a  country  wherein  one  learns  never  a  new  thing. 

•  Re-Enter  Captain. 

OAPT.  The  people  cry,  "  Long  life  to  the  King,"  and  are 
dispersing. 

Enter  TANCRED,  and  kneels  before  the  King. 

KING.  Nay,  Tancred,  rise.  For  a  man  so  free  as  you  now 
are,  this  obeisance  is  unbecoming. 

TANC.  [Rising.]  I  pray  your  Majesty,  mock  me  not.  More 
than  ever  I  am  your  dutiful  son  and  subject.  The  liberty 
you  have  given  me  I  would  use  within  the  sacred  bounds  of 
right ;  seeking  through  it  to  fill  more  fruitfully  the  measures 
of  my  life  ;  wronging  no  man,  least  of  all  your  Majesty.  [He 
advances  to  ROSALIE,  and  taking  her  hand,  says  to  ORONTIO, 


76  THE    WILL   AND   THE   WAV.  [Ad  V. 

who  stands  next  to  her}  have  I  your  permission  ?  [ORONTio 
with  dignity  and  feeling,  acquiesces  without  words.  TANCRED 
then  returns  with  ROSALIE  to  the  King,  and,  both  kneeling 
before  him,  says  :  J  Father,  we  ask  thy  benediction. 

KING.  [  With  emotion]  my  blessing  on  you  both.  Rise  up, 
my  daughter.  [  They  rise.} 

TANC.  To  crown  this  day's  great  happiness,  I  have  one 
more  petition  to  your  majesty. 

KING.  'T  is  granted  ere  't  is  named. 

TANC.  The  recall  of  my  friend,  Count  Roger. 

KING.  Herald,  proclaim  the  pardon  and  recall  from  banish- 
ment of  Count  Roger  of  Susa. 

TANC.  First,  I  crave  of  your  Majesty  and  these  gentlemen 
forgiveness  to  the  count  for  any  and  all  wrongs  real  or  imagin- 
ed up  to  this  hour,  by  him  committed  against  any  one  of  them. 

ALL.  Granted  most  fully. 

HERALD.  Know  all  men,  that  by  his  Majesty's  decree 

ROG.  Speak  louder ;  so  that  should  the  count  happen  to 
be  in  Germany,  he  may  hear  you.  [Exit. 

HERALD.  Know  all  men,  that  by  his  Majesty's  decree, 
Count  Roger  of  Susa  is  hereby  recalled  from  banishment. 

KING.  Orontio — my  son  choosing  for  himself  has  chosen 
so  well — trust  the  discretion  of  your  niece  to  do  the  same. 

ORON.  Sire,  I  have  ever  found  her  trustworthy,  and  readily 
yield  her  this  liberty. 

KING.  Come,  Blanche;  your  husband  shall  be  a  duke: 
name  him. 

BLAN.  Your  Majesty  does  not  jest  ? 


SCENE  HI.]  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.  77 

KING.  Nay,  I  pledge  to  you  my  royal  word. 

BLAN.  Father 

ORON.  Good  Blanche,  choose :  thy  choice  shall  be  mine. 

BLAN.  I  choose  Francisco. 

KING,  ORONTIO,  and  Others.  The  clown ! 

BLAN.  The  same. 

KING.  He  is  Duke  Francisco. 

ROG.  [Running  in.]  Here  I  am,  your  Majesty.  [Kneels.] 
[As  the  King  gazes  at  him,  he  takes  off  the  fool's  cap.] 

KING  and  Others.  Count  Roger  ! 

ROG.  Who  will  not  rise  till  he  has  your  Majesty's  for- 
giveness. 

KING.  That  Count  Roger  shall  never  have :  it  is  for  the 
duke.  Rise  up,  Duke  Roger.  [Roger  rises.]  Who  but  your- 
self could  have  played  us  so  shrewd  a  trick  ? 

ROG.  What  king  but  your  Majesty  would  have  forgiven  it 
so  generously  ? 

KING.  This  ends  very  like  a  comedy,  where,  albeit  the 
young  have  their  own  way,  things  turn  out  happily.  Well, 
Orontio,  let  us  take  revenge,  in  the  wish,  that  their  children 
may  do  as  well. 

ROG.  We  all  have  cause  to  be  satisfied  : — your  Majesty,  in 
that  the  prince  your  son  is  shown  to  have  a  heart  that  beats 
healthily,  a  manly  will — the  prime  virtue  in  a  ruler — and 
qualities  that  win  the  love  of  the  people,  wherein  lies  the 
strength  of  a  kingdom ; — you,  Orontio,  that  having  given  a  life 
of  high  labor  to  the  service  of  the  crown,  the  crown  shall  pass 
to  the  heirs  of  your  blood,  and  thus  your  fidelity  as  parent 


78  THE   WILL   AND   THE   WAY.    '  [Acx  V. 

and  minister  receive  a  truly  regal  recompense; — you,  Al- 
phonso,  that  not  the  wills  of  others  have  bound  you  in  those 
bonds  which  are  only  then  pure  when  entered  into  sponta- 
neously ; — you,  noble  Osmond,  that  you  have  not  exchanged 
the  tried  comforts  of  single  freedom  for  the  untried  blessings 
of  yokedom,  and  that  you  are  still  the  conspicuous  chief  of 
bachelors,  instead  of  being  merged  in  the  common  herd  of  the 
married. 

OSM.  I  like  the  phrases  "  herd"  and  "  yokedom." 
ROG.   I  perceive  you  are  already  comforted; — for  you, 
Count  Manfred,  think  of  the  maidens  of  Palermo,  and  to  what 
rejoicing  they  will  give  themselves  when  you  return  to  them 
unmarried;  —  for  me,  my  tongue,  though,  as  you  perceive,  not 
tied  by  modesty,  has  no  craft  to  speak  my  contentment. — It 
remains  but  that  you  be  satisfied ;  [to  the  Audience.] 
And  that  you  will  be,  if  our  Play 
Has  waked  your  better  thought, 
And  then  illumed  it  with  the  ray 

In  the  calm  glow  of  beauty  wrought. 
It  is  the  Poet's  hallowed  part, 

So  regally  to  speak  the  truth, 
That  it  shall  stir  the  ready  heart, 

Like  morning  sunbeam  sleeping  youth. 
His  peerless  office  is,  to  enrich 

The  mind  with  its  own  beauties, 
Tuning  its  chords  to  the  high  pitch 

Of  sweet  ideal  duties.  \Exeunt. 


LIKE    UNTO    LIKE. 


IN   THREE   ACTS. 


PERSONS   REPRESENTED. 

ROBERTO,  a  wealthy  Citizen  of  Florence. 

ERNESTO,  his  Friend. 

FERNANDO,  a  Duke. 

IGNAZIO,  an  Abbe. 

ALONZO,  an  Artist. 

FILIPPO,  a   Gentleman  of  Padua. 

OTTAVIO,  a  Florentine. 

BERTO,  Steward  to  ROBERTO. 

CECILIA,  Daughter  of  ROBERTO. 

LEONORA,  Widowed  Daughter-in-Law  of  ROBERTO. 

DUCHESS,  Mother  of  FERNANDO. 

Ladies,  Gentlemen,  and  Attendants. 
Scene — FLORENCE,  in  1502. 


LIKE   UNTO   LIKE. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I. 

A  Room  in  ROBERTO'S  House. 
Enter  ROBERTO. 

ROB.  A  dukedom  for  my  daughter,  and  myself 
Gonfalonier  of  Florence  : — this  bedwarfs 
The  very  giants  of  ambition's  dream. 

Enter  BERTO. 
Ha  !  Berto,  comes  my  friend  ? 

BERTO.  On  the  instant,  signer. 

ROB.  Now  will  I  make  Ernesto's  critic  frown 
Unwrinkle  to  a  smooth  applausive  smile. 
Berto  ! — Berto,  with  all  thy  wilful  ways, 
Thou'rt  true  as  apt,  and  lov'st  my  house  and  me. 
Now  tell  me; — for  thy  greedy  eyes  devour 


82  LIKE    UNTO    LIKE.  [ACT  I. 

"What  'tis  not  meant  that  stranger  looks  should  feed  on — 

Tell  me,  if  'mong  the  burnished  cavaliers, 

Who  make  my  old  walls  laugh  with  their  young  talk, 

There's  one  whose  absence  Cecil  quickest  marks, 

Whose  voice  to  her  is  singly  musical, 

Whose  brow  her  eye  becrowns  with  lingering  looks. 

Thou  understandst ;  — 

BERTO.  Siguor,  not  one,  not  one. 

Florence,  rich  as  she  is  in  men,  is  yet 
Too  poor,  too  poor. 

ROB.  And  Leonora.     Seldom 

Doth  now  grief's  shadow  rest  upon  her  cheek ; 
And  then  so  briefly,  that  'tis  scarcely  seen. 
My  poor  son  is  more  dead  to  her  than  me. 

BERTO.  Grief  feeds  on  want :  its  crib  is  emptiness. 
A  child's  loss  leaves  a  void,  wherein  for  ever 
Grief  thrusts  his  pallid  fingers  for  his  food. 
A  husband  gone,  there  too's  a  void ;  but  that, 
Hope  to  the  young  soon  fills  with  bearded  visions, 
Looking  at  which  the  blushing  mourner's  eyes 
Forget,  or  with  a  new  warmth  dry,  their  tears. 
Young  widows,  signer 

ROB.  'Tis  well.    Here  comes  Ernesto. 


Enter  ERNESTO.  [Exit  BERTO. 

• 
I  know,  Ernesto,  that  a  friend's  success 

Can  pour  no  selfish  wormwood  in  your  cup. 

Be  glad  then  with  me  at  my  pregnant  prospects. 


' 


SCENE  I.]  LIKE   UNTO  LIKE.  S3 

• 

ERN.  A  false  friend  or  an  enemy  might  be  that. 
Prospects  are  sirens,  heard  through  knavish  mists, 
Singing  us  ofttimes  from  a  founded  safety 
To  shoreless  wastes; — a  disembodied  voice, 
Grudging  the  bodied  sounds  of  present  joy. 

ROB.  Art  thou  already  past  the  age  of  hope  ? 

ERN.  Ay  ;  and  now  starve  upon  its  promises. 
But,  tell  me,  what  new  feather  tickles  you  ? 

ROB.  The  Duke  Fernando  asks  me  for  my  daughter. 

ERN.  Ha  !  Cecilia,  Cecilia !     Fernando  ! 
Cold,  proud,  self-loving.     He  a  husband  for — 
Oh  !  can  you,  can  you,  but  in  fleetest  thought, 
In  twinkling  fancy,  hold  such  too  conjoined  ? 
Roberto,  pardon  me ;  your  child  you  love, 
Love  as  a  parent  only  loves :  the  woman, 
Who  is  your  child,  you  see  not  on  her  height. 

ROB.  Nay,  I  would  lift  her  to  the  jewelled  height, 
Endowed  for  her  pre-excellence..     Than  she 
Who  will  sit  easier  on  a  ducal  seat  ? 

ERN.  No  seat  is  easy  when  the  heart  doth  ache. 
But,  dear  Roberto,  your  old  friend  of  Padua ; 
The  bond  with  him  has  been  a  two-fold  joy, 
A  memory  and  a  hope  ;  — 

ROB.  By  him  dissolved. 

His  boy,  he  says,  shall  mate  himself.     He'll  send  him 
To  Florence ;  and  no  tidings  thence,  more  ripe 
To  gladden  him,  than  that  my  child  and  his 
By  mutual  preference  have  resealed  our  contract. 


84  LIKE   UNTO    LIKE.  [ACT  L 

ERN.  Blest  in  his  father  is  that  son,  and  back 
Rebounds  the  blessing  from  his  heart ;  for  I, 
Knowing  this  pledge,  by  deputy  have  watched 
His  unsoiled  growth.     His  parts  are  firmed  by  truth ; 
And  so  far  as  the  unwrit  book  of  manhood 
Can  in  the  preface  of  frank  youth  be  read, 
His  life  is  dedicate  to  worthiness. 
When  comes  he? 

ROB.  I  know  not,  and  when  he  comes 

Shall  welcome  him  as  my  friend's  son ;  no  more. 

ERN.  But  should  he  ratify  his  father's  pledge. 

ROB.  His  father  has  revoked  that  ancient  pledge. 
I'm  free  to  bind  my  child  in  other  ties. 

ERN.  You  will  not  force  or  thwart  her  dispositions. 

ROB.  So  passive  and  obedient  is  her  nature, 
Her  duties  forge  her  will.     Her  joys  run  fullest 
In  channels  scooped  by  other's  predilections. 

ERN.  The  affections  live  on  self-selected  food  : 
Free  choice  is  parcel  of  their  very  life ; 
That  balked,  they  fester. 

ROB.  In  this  town,  Ernesto, 

There  are  how  many  thousands  married  pairs. 
Is  there  in  every  pair  some  special  fitness, 
Whereby,  from  each  distinct  duality, 
Is  born  a  happiness  not  else  potential  ? 
Or,  can  we  not  believe,  that  most  or  all 
Of  the  components  of  these  many  pairs, 
Coupled  to  others,  had  still  reaped  a  good 


SCEXB  I.J  LIKE    UNTO    LIKE.  85 

Equal  to  what  they  now  have  compassed  1 
Outward  conditions  oftenest  rule  in  matching. 
The  laborer  mates  him  with  his  like ;  the  trader 
A  trader's  daughter  weds ;  wealth  marries  wealth  ; 
The  courtier  seeks  his  bride  among  the  great. 
Interest,  ambition,  accident,  caprice, 
Control  or  guide  affection's  bent ;  and  thus, 
Chance  more  than  choice  picks  out  the  wedded  mate. 

ERN.  Thus  is  deep  Nature's  order  contravened, 
And  th'  inward  true  thralled  to  the  outward  false. 

Enter  BERTO  with  a  Letter. 

BERTO.  Signer,  a  letter  from  the  Duke  Fernando. 

ROB.  [After  hastily  reading  the  letter^  Ernesto,  pardon  me, 
but  I  must  leave  you.  [Exit. 

ERN.  Berto,  I  know  you  may  be  trusted ;  know  you 
As  much  of  me  ? 

BERTO.  Signor,  you  honor  me. 

ERN.  Nay,  nay. 

Berto,  you  love  your  mistress. 

BERTO.  Her  own  father 

Loves  her  not  more. 

ERN.  Perhaps  he  loves  her  less. 

BERTO.  What  mean  you,  signor  ? 

ERN.  Duke  Fernando,  love  you  him  1 

BERTO.  As  I  love  wolves. 

ERN.  This  wolf  would  rob  your  roost. 

He  seeks  to  wed  Cecilia. 


86  LIKE   UNTO   LIKE.  [ACT  I. 

BERTO.  He !     Cecilia ! 

ERN.  Fernando  and  Cecilia. 

BERTO.  Know  you  this? 

ERN.  To  make  it  known  Roberto  summoned  me. 

BERTO.  For  counsel  ? 

ERN.  Nay,  T  fear  lie  is  past  counsel ; 

With  mien  so  confident  did  he  impart  it  ; 
As  'twere  an  act  his  thought  and  will  had  signed. 

BERTO.  Signer  Ernesto,  you  know  me  for  a  cheery  frank 
buffoon,  bred  in  this  house,  and  borne  with  for  my  faithful- 
ness. Signor,  but  for  the  Lady  Cecilia,  I  had  1  oen  a  sour 
villain.  Believe  me,  sir,  by  the  power  of  goodness  am  I 
transformed  into  an  honest  happy  knave. 

ERN.  Good  Berto,  thou  deserv'dst  thy  precious  fortune. 
Thou  feel'st  this  sunshine.     For  herself,  she's  one, 
Who,  from  her  eye,  tongue,  hand,  drops  goodness  ;  and, 
Like  May,  breathing  on  frosted  violets, 
Melts  where  she  comes  cold  evil  in  her  path. 
But  this  Fernando,  this  examinate  duke, 
He  will  not  be  transmutable  by  goodness. 
Rather  he'll  quench  warm  Cecil's  generous  life, 
Killing  with  coldness  her  pure  heats ;  like  winds 
That  angry  strike  the  trembling  blossoms  down, 
And  then  whip  out  of  them  their  sweetened  breath. 
Hard  is't  to  say,  good  Berto,  but  'tis  true  ; 
This  daughter  needs  protection  'gainst  her  father. 

BERTO.  Signor,  my  master's  thoughts  and  hopes  and  dreams 
Are  now  but  titles,  rank  and  eminence. 


SCENE  II.]  LIKE   UNTO   LIKE.  87 

ERN.  And  he,  forgetful  of  his  own  hot  youth, 
Would  deal  with  this  dear  child's  unblown  affections, 
As  though,  instead  of  being  life's  sacred  marrow, 
They  were  counters  to  score  ambition's  game. 
Berto,  we'll  countermine  ambition's  craft. 
Let  us  about  it.     We  have  both  some  means. 
Art  we  will  dash  with  boldness.     Such  a  marriage 
Were  sacrilege.     Our  cause  is  holy.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  H. 
ALONZO'S  Studio. 

ALONZO,  alone. 

With  every  breath  the  fertile  air  is  sweeter, 
Each  fragrant  hour  with  sunnier  beauty  flushed. 
If  at  its  base  life  is  so  glad  and  great, 
What  will  it  be  upon  its  boundless  top  ? 
Like  wildered  traveller  on  white  Alpine  crest, 
I  shall  lack  faculty  :  I  lack  it  now. 
My  senses  reel  under  their  perfumed  load ; 
And  glittering  visions  throng,  faster  and  grander 
Than  my  slow  hand  can  seize.     Too  weak  am  I 
For  my  strong  inwardness.     A  very  God 
In  plastic  swiftness  I  should  be,  to  body 
The  blazing  forms  that  sprout  upon  my  brain, 
Peopling  the  silent  temples  of  the  mind 
With  gorgeousness.     But  I  shape  only  shadows. 
Courage  and  Faith  :  these  be  my  arms  and  armor. 
Imagined  beauty  breeds  upon  the  soul ; 


a 


88  LIKE   UNTO   LIKE.  [ACT  I. 

What  though  the  offspring  wear  no  present  feature, 
Warm  Time  shall  ripen  into  sinewy  life 
The  boldest  thoughts'  most  choice  imaginations, 
Therewith  to  build  the  great  hereafter.     Glorious, 
Divine  'twill  be,  one  tiniest  stone  to  bring 
To  the  majestic  pile.     [Knocking  at  the  door.] 
Who's  there  ?  come  in. 

Enter  FiLiPPO. 
Filippo ! 

FIL.  Dear  Alonzo  !  —  Oh  !  I  see 
Thou  art  thyself;  thou  art  but  changed,  to  be 
Still  more  thyself. 

ALON.  And  thou :  these  four  short  years 

Have  only  sported  with  thy  youth. 

FIL.  And  I 

With  them.     I  shame  to  tell  thee,  dear  Alonzo, 
I  am  as  light  as  aye,  and  learn  no  wisdom. 

ALON.  Nay ;  to  the  true,  Wisdom  comes  of  herself, 
And  takes  delight  in  coming ;  while  the  false, 
With  all  their  might,  can't  win  her  confidence. 
Ere  thou  art  gray,  graybeards  shall  be  thy  pupils. 
But  what,  save  my  good  angel,  brings  thee  hither  ? 

FIL.  Florence  brings  me  to  Florence.     I  am  one 

^^^^^ 

Of  the  great  flock  that  hither  bleating  runs, 
To  be,  here  in  this  beauteous  pen  of  learning, 
Fleeced  of  our  ignorance.     Then  thou  art  here ; 
And  thy  good  angel  ever  has  been  mine. 


SCENE  H.J  LIKE    UNTO   LIKE.  89 

Lastly  —  I've  come  to  seek  a  wife. 

ALON.  A  wife ! 

FIL.  About  a  score  of  years  ago,  my  father — 
With  that  farsightedness  that  fathers  have  — 
From  Padua  spied  one  in  a  cradle  here. 

ALON.  Infant  betrothment  signed  by  parents. 

FIL.  Ay ; 

On  one  condition,  that  on  either  part 
The  contract  might  at  will  be  abrogated. 
And  so  it  is ;  unless  myself  rebiud  it, 
The  lady  and  her  father  both  consenting. 
Now  hear  my  scheme.     That  I  be  not  prejudged 
For  good  or  ill,  and  be  more  free  to  judge, 
I  will  be  seen  unknown,  and  see  unpledged. 
Therefore,  in  Florence  I  am  not  Filippo 
Of  Padua,  but  Valeric  a  Venetian. 
Knowest  thou  the  rich  Roberto  ? 

ALON.  Eoberto ! 

FIL.  'T  is  he  who  was  to  be  my  father-in-law. 

ALON.  What  thou  hast  partly  forfeited !  the  flower 
Of  Tuscany. 

FIL  So  fair  ? 

ALON.  In  drawing  her 

My  hopeless  pencil  seizes  grace  ideal; 
And  shall  my  image  near  her  perfectness, 
I  shall  be  bold  to  cope  unseen  Madonnas. 

FIL.  Show  me  this  painted  image. 

ALON.  'T is  not  here, 


90  LIKE   UNTO   LIKE.  ,  [ACT  I. 

And  barely  touched.     Twice  only  have  I  seen  her. 

At  noon  she  sits  again.     This  suits  thy  plot. 

First  thou  shalt  see  Da  Vinci's  great  cartoon, 

And  then  the  masterpiece  of  Nature.     Come.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  HI. 
A  Room  in  ROBERTO'S  House. 

Enter  ERNESTO  and  BERTO. 

ERN.  My  suspicion,  Berto,  has  been  quickly  translated  into 
knowledge.  A  villanous  plot.  Cecilia  is  the  price  Roberto 
pays  Fernando  for  making  him  gonfalonier. 

BERTO.     Roberto  gonfalonier ! 

ERN.  Ay ;  the  plotters  are  at  work ;  Fernando's  minions 
and|  Roberto's  ducats  already  trot  hand  in  hand  through  the 
by-ways  of  Florence. 

BERTO.  Signor,  think  you  the  Signer  Roberto  fit  for  this 
high  office  ? 

ERN.  Thou  rogue ;  thou  shouldst  have  been  an  abbe, 
thou  art  so  seeming  innocent. 

BERTO.  I  prophesy  an  eclipse.  We  shall  have  the  Medici 
back. 

ERN.  And  deserve  them.  When  a  people  persists  in  choos- 
ing wrongly,  it  jeopards  the  right  to  choose.  But  Roberto  is 
not  yet  chosen.  Fernando,  'tis  true,  has  power,  noble  though 
he  be ;  for  rank  that  has  long  been  rooted,  will,  when  cut 
down,  throw  up  suckers.  Yet  by  none  is  he  beloved,  and  by 
all  honest  men,  hated.  Florentines,  as  strong  as  he,  would 


SCENE  III.]  LIKE  UNTO  LIKE.  91 

like  to  thwart  him.  If  we  can  baffle  Fernaudo's  influence  on 
the  election,  we  defeat  the  marriage ;  and  if  we  can  defeat  the 
marriage,  we  prevent  the  election.  Our  twofold  aims  double 
our  chance  of  success. — I  have,  moreover,  good  tidings  from 
my  sentinel  in  Padua.  Filippo,  of  whom  I  have  told  you,  is 
on  his  way  hither  in  disguise.  He  is  a  friend  of  the  painter 
Alonzo,  and  is  to  pass  for  a  Venetian.  Alonzo  comes  for 
another  sitting  presently.  I  will  return  to  sift  from  him  what 
I  can.  \Exeunt. 

Enter  CECILIA  and  LEONORA. 

CEC.  Dear  Leonora,  canst  thou  not  to  day 
Lend  me  a  heartful  of  thy  cheerfulness  ? 

LEON.  Lend  thee  or  give  my  heart's  whole  joy  I  will, 
And  yawn  a  week  in  empty  mirthlessness, 
So  thou  wilt  smile  as  thou  didst  yesterday. 
Thou  art  unwonted  sad  :  what  hast  thou,  sister  ? 

CEC.  Words  from  my  father,  they  have  made  me  sad ; 
Which  should  not  be,  and  never  was  before. 

LEON.  Sweet  sis,  fathers  were  made  to  balk  their  daugh- 
ters, 

And  better  them  by  balking.  'Tis  their  duty  : 
Thine  is,  to  let  thyself  be  balked  and  bettered, 
Learning  with  pretty  proneness  thy  first  lesson 
In  virtue.  Would  there  were  some  other  way. 

CEC.  My  father  has  no  thought  but  for  my  good.  \Sighing. 

LEON.  A  most  rare  good,  that  makes  thee  sigh  to  speak  of. 
A  good,  methinks,  one  might  be  selfish  with, 
Giving  a  friend  the  larger  lump  thereof. 


92  LIKE    UNTO   LIKE.  [ACT  I. 

Come,  I'll  be  prodigal,  halving  it  with  thee. 
Oh !  Cecil,  is't  a  husband  ? 

CEC.  Thy  fast  tongue 

Has  overta'en  the  truth. 

LEON.  Thou  dost  not  jest  ? 

CEC.  Would  that  I  did. 

LEON.  Wouldst  be  a  child  for  ever  ? 

For  what  hast  thou  been  suckled,  schooled,  arrayed  ] 
Since  first  thy  lashes  parted  to  the  sun, 
No  beam  has  spurred  thy  growth,  but  daily  graved 
More  deeply  on  thy  pulse  the  one  word,  wife. 
Therein  is  locked  thy  destiny,  thyself. 

CEC.  Good  Leonora,  are  husbands  all  alike  ? 

LEON.  Ah,  there's  the  knot  that  ravels  up  the  skein. 

CEC.  Thinkst  thou  life  could  wind  smoothly  with  Fernando  ? 

LEON.  The  duke  ?     Is  he  thy  suitor  1  thou  a  duchess  ? 
Tall,  handsome,  noble,  and  thy  father's  choice  — 

CEC.  Dear  sister,  be  not  bribed  by  rank  and  looks, 
The  man,  Fernando,  what  of  him  ? 

LEON.  His  height 

And  title  are  the  best  of  him.     And  yet, 
In  the  dry  dearth  of  men,  these  go  for  much. 

CEC.  Oh !  can  I  wed  and  love  a  proud  cold  man  1 

LEON,  To-day  thou  couldst  not ;  but  a  week  or  month 
Works  headlong  transformations.     Love  delights 
In  contraries ;  and  were  the  cold  to  wed 
Only  the  cold,  frost  would  usurp  the  world, 
And  men  soon  turn  to  icicles. 


LIKE    UNTO   LIKE.  93 

Enter  BERTO. 
BERTO.  Signor  Ernesto 

Enter  ERNESTO. 

ERN.  I've  come,  Cecilia,  to  befriend  your  picture, 
Abetting  with  my  tongue  Alonzo's  pencil. 
To  wordy  war  I  challenge  Leonora ; 
That  we,  by  wisdom,  and  by  wit  of  speech, 
May  so  your  fancy  ravish,  that  your  soul, 
Charmed  to  your  face,  the  painter,  thence  enkindled, 
Shall  fire  the  frigid  canvass. 

BERTO.  Signor  Alonzo. 

Enter  ALONZO  and  FILIPPO. 

ALON-  Signora,  I  have  used  the  privilege, 
So  hospitably  given,  and  bring  my  friend, 
Signor  Valerio,  who,  fresh  come  from  Venice, 
Will,  if  so  please  you,  rend  the  sitting's  tedium 
With  latest  martial  news,  or  recent  feats 
Of  great  Giorgione  and  the  greater  Titian, 
Champions  of  Art  so  nobly  confident, 
They  throw  the  gauntlet  down  to  Tuscany. 

CEC.  Signor,  welcome  to  Florence,  and  our  house. 
Of  gorgeous  Venice  we  shall  gladly  hear. 

FIL.  Lady,  I  shall  be  grateful  if  you'll  listen 
To  partial  speech  of  Venice ;  yet  to-day, 
So  lively  is  my  mind  with  Florence  self, 
All  distant  images  seem  colorless. 

ERN.  A  Florentine  bids  you  be  welcome,  sir, 


94  LIKE    UNTO    LIKE.  [ACT  I. 

To  his  fair  city  and  to  all  it  holds 
That  may  or  profit  or  divert  you. 

FIL.  Signer, 

The  high  renown  of  Florence,  I  perceive, 
Finds  echo  in  its  townsmen's  courtesy. 

ALON.  Noble  Ernesto,  there's  no  other  man 
I  more  delight  to  thank  than  you.     Believe  me, 
My  friend  is  worthy,  sir,  of  your  best  will. 

ERN.  His  face,  Alonzo,  is  your  warrant's  seal, 
f  Aside  to  BERTO.J  The  rogue  tho'  comes  with  fib  upon  his  lips. 

ALON.  [To  CECILIA.]  Signora,  will  you  sit. 

[CECILIA  takes  her  seat;  ALONZO  adjusts  his  easel ; 
the  others  sit ;  and  then  the  cut  tain  drops.] 


SCENE  I.J  LIKE   UNTO   LIKE.  95 


ACT  II. 

SCENE   I. 
A  Room  in  ROBERTO'S  House. 

ROBERTO,  alone. 

ROB.  The  virtue  of  a  girl  is  modesty, 
Which  were  in  men  pale  cowardice.     To  know 
One's  fitness  for  high  places ;  then,  to  prove 
The  knowledge  by  bold  deed,  is,  to  fulfil 
Nature's  robust  decree.     Faint-hearted  fools, 
None  others,  snub  their  opportunities. 
Fortune  bears  malice :  she  forgives  not  those, 
But  whips  with  hate,  who  slight  her  coy  advances. 
This  will  not  I ;  but  through  her  sudden  love 
Wed  me  to  greatness  and  its  lofty  joys. 
The  top  place  'mong  the  haughty  few  I'll  win ; 
The  many's  shout  shall  peal  for  my  proud  ear ; 
Where'er  I  move  shall  glare  the  signs  of  homage  - 
The  deferential  pause  of  passers-by, 
The  lifted  bonnet  and  obedient  bow ; 
My  every  word  with  wisdom  shall  be  freighted 
By  yielded  wills  and  bribed  imaginations ; 


96  LIKE   UNTO    LIKE.  [ACT  II. 

The  chair  of  state,  the  seat  of  dignity, 
There  will  I  sit,  circled  with  regal  light, 
The  focus  high  of  a  hushed  crowd  submissive, 
Agape  to  kiss  the  fiat  of  authority 

Enter  BERTO. 
How  now,  Berto,  what  hast  thou  learnt? 

BERTO.  Signer,  when  a  man  goes  into  the  street,  and  that 
in  a  city  so  learned  as  Florence,  if  when  he  comes  home  he 
can  tell  what  he  has  learnt,  he  is  too  wise  for  his  fellows,  and 
is  company  fit  only  for  himself. 

ROB.  Berto,  thou  art  no  licensed  jester ;  take  not  his  liber- 
ties so  often.  No  more  foolery.  Whom  hast  thou  seen  ?  what 
didst  thou  hear  about  the  election  ? 

BERTO.  I  saw  Bartolomeo,  the  vintner ;  I  saw  Adolpho,  the 
wool-dealer ;  I  saw  Biagio,  the  glovier ;  I  saw  Lattanzio,  the 
shoemaker;  I  saw  Nicolini,  the  armorer;  I  saw — 

ROB.  All  good  men ;  how  will  they  vote  ? 

BERTO.  Every  man  of  them  against  your  honor.  Of  all 
I  spoke  with  I  found  but  one  citizen  for  you. 

ROB.  Who  was  he  ? 

BERTO.  Floriano,  the  half-starved  baker. 

ROB.  I  know  Floriano ;  he's  shrewd  though  poor.  Berto, 
in  choice  of  official  men,  the  honest  poor  are  cleaner  in  their 
preferences,  higher  in  their  judgments,  than  the  prosperous 
burghers.  The  partialities  of  fat  citizens  are  apt  to  be  poi- 
soned by  self-seeking. 

BERTO.  Judge,  signer,  of  Floriano's   judgment :    when  I 


SCENE  I.]  LIKE  UNTO  LIKE.  97 

told  him  of  the  duke,  he  swore,  he'd  rather  live  on  his  own 
crusts  than  vote  for  a  friend  of  Fernando. 

ROB.  Knave,  thou  consortest  but  with  knaves.  These  ras- 
cals are  all  bought  by  Soderini. 

BERTO.  It  may  be.  Have  you  heard,  signer,  the  good 
news  about  the  duke  ? 

ROB.  Ha  !   no  :  what  is  it  ? 

BERTO.  They  say,  that  digging  a  well — the  duke  is  one 
of  the  thirstiest  of  mortals  —  digging  a  well  in  his  garden — 
your  honor  knows  this  garden,  near  the  Roman  gate,  close 
upon  the  studio  of — 

ROB.  Ay,  ay ;  the  news,  the  good  news. 

BERTO.  The  diggers  had  got  but  little  below  the  surface, 
when  they  struck  upon  a  gold  vein.  The  duke  being  fond 
of  old  things,  to  make  good  the  old  adage  — "  easy  come,  easy 
go," — throws  the  gold  among  the  voters  by  handfuls,  as 
though  there  were  no  more  virtue  in  it  than  in  holy  water. 

ROB.  [Half  to  himself.]  Saucy  varlet. 

Enter  an  Attendant. 

ATTEN.  The  Abbe  Ignazio. 

BERTO.  [.4*«Ze.]  Now  for  sweet  words  from  bitter  breast. 
Good-by  to  truth  where  abbes  are  welcome.  This  reverend 
tongue  is  a  sponge  to  wipe  out  good  and  drop  malice.  Here's 
one  of  the  tigers  that  set  the  mob  on  the  brave  Savonarola. 
Rather  than  not  hate  him  I'd  forego  my  prayers. 

Enter  the  Abbe*. 

ROB.  Signor,  I'm  proud  to  have  you  cross  my  threshold. 

5 


98  LIKE   UNTO    LIKE.  [Ad  IL 

IGN.  For  me,  Signer  Roberto,  proud  am  I 
That  such  occasions  bring  me.     From  our  friend, 
The  duke,  I  come,  the  bearer — who  is  this? 

ROB.  Only  my  major-domo.     Speak  your  mind. 

IGN.  I  come  the  happy  bearer  of  good  tidings. 
Your  cause — the  cause  of  all  true  Florentines  — 
I  am  no  wordy  flatterer,  signor, — 
Your  cause,  linked  to  the  best  men's  hopes  and  wants, 
Wears  the  fresh  look  of  healthy  expectation, 
Your  many  friends  make  many  friends,  and  these 
Breeding  so  fast,  each  day  counts  new  recruits. 

ROB.  Berto,  thou  hear'st ;  thy  bakers,  gloviers,  vintners, — 

BERTO.  Are  not  among  the  new  recruits. 

IGN.  They  are  not. 

We  need  them  not :  of  less  account  are  these 
Than  in  the  old  rude  times,  ere  men  were  sifted 
By  the  great  Medici.     Thanks  to  their  rule, 
The  common  herd,  in  losing  half  their  power, 
Have  lost  some  of  their  insolence,  and  are, 
Like  hungry  beasts,  tamer  to  those  that  feed  them. 

BERTO.  [J.-szWe.]  There  he  means  every  word  that  he  says 

IGN.  Fear  not  for  our  success.     The  duke  is  hoarse 
With  speaking  for  you,  and  the  holy  church 
Is  on  your  side.     Pope  Borgia,  our  strong  chief, 
Who  ne'er  forsook  his  friends 

BERTO.  [Aside.]  No  :  he  never  had  any  but  priests. 

IGN.  Has  sent  a  legate 

To  personate  his  will  in  this  election. 


SCENE  I.]  LIKE   U.XTO   LIKE.  99 

Events  to  be,  show  often  with  such  bulk, 
They  tax  the  sense  like  present  certainties. 
Such,  signor,  is  the  lifting  of  yourself 
To  the  great  station  of  command  in  Florence. 
There  I  behold  you  with  so  certain  eyes, 
That  thus  I  in  advance  pay  you  my  homage. 

[Kisses  ROBERTO'S  hand. 

ROB.  Oh !  reverend  sir,  you  do  me  too  much  honor, 
I'm  dumb  with  diffidence.     When  I  am  great, 
With  acts  I'll  thank  you  then  becomingly. 

IGN.  Signor,  I'm  honored  by  your  confidence. 
'Tis  a  proud  day  when  I  can  help  to  bind 
Such  men  together  as  the  duke  and  you. 
He  burns  to  be  saluted  as  your  son. 
To  the  Ladies  Leonora  and  Cecilia 
I'll  do  my  service  at  the  duke's  to-night. 
Signor,  I  take  my  leave.  [Exeunt  severally. 

Enter  ERNESTO,  by  the  way  IGNAZIO  went  out.   • 

ERN.  Was  it  not  Ignazio  whom  I  met  going  out  ? 

BERTO.  Ay :  dost  thou  smell  carrion  ? 

Ern.  What  mean'st  thou  ? 

BERTO.  The  vulture  has  been  feasting :  the  carcass  is  my 
poor  master.  Signor,  the  duke  seeks  to  hasten  the  marriage, 
lest,  by  failure  of  the  election,  it  be  balked. 

ERN.  Didst  thou  hear  what  passed  ? 

BERTO.  I  was  present.  The  abbe  told  Roberto  one  thing 
and  me  another. 


100  LIKE   UNTO   LIKE.  [ACT  H. 

ERN.  How  was  that  ? 

BERTO.  He  told  lies ;  the  which  my  master  took  for  truths, 
and  I  for  what  they  were.  To  make  brass  seem  gold  and 
sour  sweet,  no  alchymist  like  one  of  Rome's  most  trusted 
priests.  Signor  Ernesto,  I  have  learned  something ;  some- 
thing I  thought  I  knew.  I  only  knew  it  by  halves. 

ERN.  What  is  that  ? 

BERTO.  The  unmeasurable,  the  unfathomable,  the  unimagi- 
nable virtue 

ERN.  Of  what  in  Heaven's  name  ? 

BERTO.  Of  impudence.  All  the  lessons  in  the  big  book  of 
our  neighbor  Machiavelli  are  covered  by  that  one  word. 

ERN.  And  your  master's  degree  in  this  province  of  learn- 
ing you  have  from  Ignazio.  Now  for  our  plot.  I  must  see 
Leonora.  To  Filippo  I  have  divulged  my  knowledge  of  his 
secret ;  he  rejoices  to  have  us  for  allies.  Berto,  go  ask  Leo- 
nora to  give  me  a  few  moments.  [Exit  BERTO.J  Frankness 
will  do  more  with  her  than  art :  she  herself  is  truthful.  But 
she's  giddy ;  yet  'twill  be  safest  to  make  her  a  full  confidence. 

Re-Enter  BERTO. 
BERTO.  Signor,  the  lady  Leonora  awaits  you.          [Exeunt. 

SCENE  H.  ' 

ALONZO'S  Studio. 
ALONZO  :  to  him  enter  FILIPPO. 

FlL.  Is  no  place  clean  of  black  iniquity  ? 
Are  men  beasts  all,  with  godlike  front ;  within, 


SCENE  II.]  LIKE   UNTO   LIKE.  101 

Rankness  and  dross ;  without,  festooned  and  sleek  ? 
Alonzo,  let  me  look  at  thee.     Art  sure 
Thou  art  not  leopard  visaged  like  a  man. 

ALON.   Hast  thou  been  fobbed  —  thy  pockets  picked  so 

soon? 

'    FiL.  This  sculptured  grace,  this  painted  nobleness ; 
This  beauty's  bloom,  climbing  the  ponderous  stone ; 
This  gleaming  art,  that  makes  the  sun  shine  warmer, — 
Is  all  hypocrisy,  all  sensual  play  ? 

ALON.  Our  air  has  turned  him  lunatic.     Wh/it  hast  thou  ? 

FiL.  I've  heard  a  thing,  the  which,  but  that  I'll  stay 
To  baffle  it,  would  make  me  run  from  Florence. 
His  single  child  Roberto  sells  for  place. 

ALON.  Thou'st  mad,  or  thou  hast  talked  with  madmen. 

FiL.  Hear 

Ernesto  speak — my  tongue  but  mimics  his. — 
The  Duke  Fernando  has  engaged  to  stamp 
Roberto  gonfalonier ;  for  the  which  minting 
Roberto  pays  with  his  daughter.     One  hour  hence 
We  shall  be  witnesses  to  the  gross  bargain. 

ALON.  Too  gross  for  thought ;  for  act,  impossible. 
Can  thing  so  fab:  be  subject  to  abuse  ? 
Such  beauty  hath  a  quality  transcendant, 
That  should  breed  virtue  in  corruption's  sty, 
And  swell  the  good  to  fruitfull'st  excellence. 

FIL.  And  yet,  but  for  my  knightly  oath  —  which  here 
I  swear — to  rescue,  if  such  power  be  in  me,  ' 

Cecilia  from  this  hideous  prisonment, — 


102  LIKE    UNTO    LIKE.  [Ad  II. 

Gay  Leonora  would  draw  half  my  worship. 

ALON.  The  highest  beauty  lives  not  in  the  visage, 
But  in  the  soul's  palatial  chambers,  whence 
To  the  open  portal  in  the  face  it  comes, 
To  look  its  blessing  on  humanity. 

FlL.  So  yesterday  I  felt  it  at  thy  side 
In  double  measure  from  two  windows  large. 
My  hliss  had  there  been  whole,  had  my  eye  seized 
The  two  in  one.     My  senses  were  distraught ; 
And  I  lost  either,  grasping  at  the  two. 

ALON.  Like  the  wise  quadruped  thou  hast  heard  speak  of. 

FIL.  Giber,  I'll  tell  thee  what  'twas  like :  so  listen. 
Couched  in  a  boat  far  off  on  th'  Adriatic, 
I've  seen  the  sun  his  cloud-wove  tresses  lay 
Upon  th'  Euganian  hills,  their  nightly  pillow  ; 
Then  from  th'  opposing  shore  the  moon  rise  full ; 
And  both,  poised  on  th'  horizon's  polished  rim, 
Gaze  grandly  one  upon  the  other,  like 
Confronted  deities,  that  grew  in  grandeur 
By  sudden  interfusing  of  their  looks ; 
Whilst  I,  not  to  divide  my  trancing  wonder, 
But  hold  as  one  the  two  sublimities, 
That  filled  all  heaven,  longed  for  a  Janus-head. 

ALON.  Bravo  !     And  now  thou'dst  have  a  Janus-heart. 

FIL.  Away  now  to  this  duke's.    'Tis  time.    Thou'lt  squire 

me 
In  my  knight-errantry. 

ALON.  Unto  the  death.  [  Exeunt. 


SCEXE  III.]  LIKE    UNTO    LIKE.  103 

SCENE  HI. 

A  Room  in  the  Home  of  DUKE  FERNANDO,  lighted  up  for 
Company. 

The  Duke  ;  the  Duchess,  his  mother. 

DUCH.  Henceforth  I  sheath  my  woman's  weapon,  and 
No  more  with  speech  assail  your  staunch  resolves. 
To  bland  civility  I'll  subjugate 
.My  carriage,  so  that  pride  show  not  its  wounds 
In  bleeding  words  or  bruised  looks.     'Tis  late 
For  me  to  learn  so  hard  a  lesson 

DUKE.  Mother, 

You  let  imagination  smother  you, 
Steeping  your  senses  in  the  rotting  past. 
Life  draws  its  sap  from  the  quick-panting  present. 
Who  would  live  healthily  must  breathe  new  air, 
Made  daily  by  the  sun  and  night-cooled  earth. 
Yield  to  the  past,  the  past  will  govern  you ; 
Embrace  the  present,  and  you  rule  the  future. 
To  look  behind  is  to  be  weak  :  the  strong 
Looks  forward,  hugging  close  the  bounding  now. 
The  commonwealth  needs  ever  stout  new  men. 
Sucn  were  the  Medici. 

DUCH.  Baseborn  and  base. 

Myself  I  once  refused  a  Medici, 
In  wealth  a  Croesus  to  your  rich  Roberto. 

DUKE.  Dear  mother,  grant  me  this.     Let  but  your  eyes, 
"When  they  behold  Cecilia,  be  true  inlets, 


104  LIKE    UNTO    LIKE.  [ACT  II. 

Fairly  delivering  what  they  have  received, 
You'll  see  a  hundred  coronets  on  her  brow, 
And  swear  great  Charlemagne  her  ancestor. 

DIJCH.  Beauty,  my  son,  is  common.    Nature  joys 
To  scatter  outward  gifts 

DUKE.  And  inward  too ;  — 

Here  comes  the  abbe*,  my  embassador. 

Enter  IGNAZIO. 
I  catch  good  tidings  from  his  gait.     What  news  ? 

IGN.  Both  good  and  bad. 

DUKE.  We'll  hear  the  bad  then  first. 

IGN.  The  people,  with  its  old  perversity, 
Still  strives  to  have  a  will.     Your  Florentines 
Are  stuffed  with  impious  heresy,  the  leaven 
Of  the  blaspheming  monk,  Savonarola. 
They'd  spite  the  Pope ;  and  so,  choose  Soderini, 
Who  feeds  their  hairy  ears  with  promises ; 
And  these  the  braying  multitude  sucks  in, 
Thinking  them  provender  to  fatten  on. 
The  upshot  is,  we  shall  be  largely  beaten. 

DUKE.  The  higher  guilds  — 

IGN.  Turn  out  the  strongest  'gainst  us 

Of  this  no  whisper  to  the  sage  Roberto. 
My  friend  Ariosto's  fancy  is  not  more  nimble 
To  conjure  corporalities  from  shadows. 
He  sits  already  in  the  chair  of  state. 
I  warrant  you  his  tongue  is  glib  in  forms 


SCENE  HI.1  LIKE   UNTO   LIKE.  105 

Of  ceremonial  speech,  his  mirror  practised 

In  bows  official. —  Comfort  you  with  this, 

For  loss  of  the  election  :  you  have  'scaped, 

My  lord,  a  madman  for  your  father-in-law. 

The  simultaneous  weights  of  two  such  honors 

Had  surely  cracked  a  skull  so  thin.     Let  not 

Cold  rumors  cool  him ;  but  to-morrow  lock, 

With  hand  and  seal,  the  contract  for  your  marriage. 

Enter  several  Gentlemen  and  Ladies. 

DUKE.  Welcome,  kind  friends.     Ladies,  you  do  me  honor. 
Signor  Ottavio,  what's  your  quarrel  with  us  1 
Your  cheek  is  tanned  by  other  suns  than  ours. 

OTT.  My  lord,  I  have  of  late  divorced  myself 
From  Florence  but  to  brace  my  love  for  her 
Neath  skies  less  motherly. 

Enter  ROBERTO,  CECILIA  and  LEONORA. 

DUKE.  Ladies,  my  heart 

Is  in  my  tongue  when  I  say  welcome.     Mother, 
The  ladies  Cecilia  and  Leonora. 
Signor  Roberto,  Florence  has  no  son 
For  whom  my  doors  so  smoothly  turn  as  you. 
Her  citizens,  I  trust,  will  prove  they  know 
Whom  they  should  prize.     What  of  the  election  ? 

ROB.  Rumors 

Fly  thick  and  blind  as  hailstones  in  the  night. 
'T  is  a  rough  time  in  Florence ;  but  our  cause, 
My  lord,  bears  itself  bravely. 


106  LIKE    UNTO   LIKE.  [ACT  II 

Enter  ALOXZO  and  FILIPPO. 

DUKE.  Gentlemen, 

"Welcome.     Signer  Valeric,  were  the  truth 
Full  known,  you  miss  the  liquid  roads  of  Venice, 
And  the  hushed  gondola's  voluptuous  carriage. 

FIL.  My  lord,  strangers  in  Florence  lose  their  memories. 

DUKE.  A  better  guide  to  Beauty's  hiding-places 
Our  city  knows  not  than  your  friend,  Alonzo. 
Have  you  seen  Michael  Angelo  ? 

ALON.  We've  seen  him 

Look  grander  than  his  present  self. 

DUKE.  How  mean  you  ? 

ALON.  Standing  before  Leonardo's  last  Cartoon ; 
The  bulging  veins  of  his  big  forehead  flooded 
With  fiery  inflow  of  new  power.     Beside  him  — 
Like  an  old  lion  listening  his  cub's  young  roar — 
Renowned  Leonardo  stood,  serene,  exalted 
In  Buonarotti's  fresh  unstained  emotion. 
There  was  a  sight  to  gorge  a  Tuscan's  pride. 
Yet  more  we  saw.    Swift  through  the  door,  a  youth — 
His  visage  beaming  expectation — strode 
To  the  front.     At  first  he  piercing  gazed,  all  eye ; 
And  then,  over  his  beardless  womanly  face — 
Like  inward  swell  upon  a  glassy  sea  — 
A  tremor  passed,  heaving  his  smooth  large  brow 
And  placid  look  to  sudden  strength ;  until 
The  heart's  clear  quivering  deep  ran  o'er  in  tears. 
He  turned  :  eyes  met  and  hands,  and  in  one  breath 


SCENE  III.]  LIKE   UNTO  LIKE.  107 

Broke  the  long  silence,  "  Angelo,"  "  Raphael." 
Then  he  beheld  the  bearded  head  sublime ; 
And  as  he  gazed  drew  slightly  back  in  awe  ; 
And  great  Da  Vinci  sweetly  looked  on  him. 

OTT.  Aptly  you  speak,  sir,  for  your  quiet  craft, 
And  deftly  lift  your  chiefs.     As  Florentine, 
I  almost  wish,  with  you  I  could  upmount 
To  your  o'ertopping  pinnacle  of  pride. 
But  I  have  stood  in  Venice,  when  the  Doge 
From  the  stored  East  came  clogged  with  Turkish  spoil, 
To  beard  the  mighty  King  of  western  France ; 
And  I  have  heard  the  boastful  cannon  boom, 
As  proud  Genoa  crowded  to  her  quays 
To  welcome  home  great  Doria  from  the  seas; 
I've  seen  the  flaunting  chivalry  of  Spain 
Group  round  their  lofty  Isabel,  when  she 
Gave  thankful  audience  to  that  vast  Italian — 
The  foremost  sailor  of  the  sea-girt  earth — 
Who  gendered  in  his  brain  a  Continent, 
And  laid  it  at  his  wondering  Mistress'  feet. 
Here  were  the  steadfast  grandeurs  of  broad  action, 
That  make  the  heart  throb  prophecies  of  fame. 
For  these  o'ermastering  doers,  Florence  has 
But  writers,  poets,  painters,  indoor  workers, 
Soft  cunning  weavers  of  ideal  webs. 

ALON.  The  precious  webs,  whereof  are  wrought  the  cradles 
That  rock  the  infancy  of  stoutest  deeds. 
Th'  ideal  is,  high  wants  of  highest  men, 


108  LIKE    UNTO   LIKE.  [ACT  IL 

Whose  happy  natures  nurse  the  pith,  that  lifts 

From  height  to  height  climbing  humanity. 

High  poetry  is  higher  history, 

A  record  written  by  an  inward  puissance. 

No  story  has  the  race  that  lacks  th'  ideal, 

Which  has  its  incarnation  in  th'  elect, 

Whose  thoughts,  grown  larger  than  their  times,  leap  out 

In  acts  and  words  that  lash  the  sluggard  times 

To  their  great  motion,  making  history 

With  daily  doings.     Acts  and  words  are  twins, 

Mutual  reverberants,  inseparable 

As  sound  from  speech,  or  starlight  from  the  night, 

And  wed  to  Beauty,  last  in  endless  lineage ; 

For  beauty  is  the  Cybele  of  the  mind. 

Unwed  to  Beauty,  lives  nor  act  nor  word 

In  men's  imaginative  memory. 

Beauty's  high  priests,  the  dedicated  poets — 

Whether  with  pen  or  pencil  ministering  — 

Are  the  fine  nerves  of  Peoples.     Weak  in  these, 

They  are  as  barren  as  the  drooping  air 

Scanted  in  currents  of  electric  life. 

Heroes  are  acted  beauty,  and  true  greatness 

Draws  from  th'  ideal  its  choice  nourishment. 

A  winged  unresting  presence,  Beauty  sways 

Above  our  daily  work,  singing  us  heavenward. 

For  fifteen  hundred  years  a  great  Ideal, 

Quickening  the  heart,  transmutes  humanity. 

Fanning  the  nations  with  its  lustral  wings, 


SCENE  III.]  LIKE   UNTO   LIKE.  109 

Such  vaulting  hopes  it  stirs,  that  men,  upswung 

By  its  creative  potency,  believe 

Its  holy  author's  life  shall  yet  be  lived ; 

And  his  words,  more  beautiful  than  ever  else 

Were  spoken — "Love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself," — 

No  more  ideal,  be  men's  daily  act. 

CEC.  For  your  high  teaching,  sir,  I  thank  you. 
ROB.  Cecilia, 

You  are  too  bold. 

CEC.  Are  honest  thanks,  sir,  boldness? 

[The  scenes  part  behind,  displaying  a  banquet.  The 
Duke  gives  Ms  arm  to  CECILIA,  ROBERTO  to  the  Duch- 
ess, Sfc.,  and  as  the  company  move  toward  the  tables 
the  Curtain  drops.] 


110  LIKE   ONTO   LIKE.  [Acx  IIL 


ACT  III. 

SCENE    I. 
A  Room  in  ROBERTO'S  House. 

CECILIA  and  LEONORA. 

CEC.  To  dare  my  father's  will ; — 't  is  to  disjoin 
Myself  in  hostile  halves,  each  spearing  each. 
To  wed  Fernando,  that  were  worse  than  death. 
Rather  than  that  I'll  weep  away  my  days 
In  convent  cell. 

LEON.  Talk  not  of  convents,  sister ; 

It  makes  my  heart  stop  beating.     There's  a  way — 

CEC.  What  way  ? 

LEON.  To  wed  thee  with  another. 

CEC.  Ha ! 

What  other  ? 

LEON.        Him  to  whom  thou  wast  betrothed. 

CEC.  Oh  !  speak  not  of  another.     Thou  but  addst 
A  wrench  unto  the  wheel  whereon  I'm  racked. — 
We  have  not  eyes,  that  they  be  seared  ;  nor  ears, 
That  they  be  stopped.     These  finer  inward  senses  — 
To  which  all  others  are  but  servitors — 


SCENE  I.  LIKE   UNTO  LIKE.  ill 

Wherefore  should  they  —  whose  prime,  like  landscape  seized 
By*the  fresh  giant,  Morning,  is  aglow 

With  quivering  light — wherefore  should  they  b*e  darkened, 
Their  sudden  sweetness  soured  ?     This  is  not  right. 

LEON.  It  is  not  right  that  thy  dear  heart  be  wounded, 
That  weeps  such  healing  tears  for  others'  woes. 
Who  could  do  violence  to  such  as  thou  ? 
Thy  father  surely  not :  he  loves  thee,  Cecil. 
Ambitious  is  he,  not  unkind ;  and  when 
Of  thy  averseness  to  the  duke  he  learns, 
Warm  love  will  melt  ambition's  icy  plots. 

CEC.  I  will  believe  thee !     'Tis  my  meddling  fancy  — 
Bribed  by  a  coward  heart — that  coins  these  fears. 

LEON.  Forget  the  duke :  let's  talk  of  something  else. 
Filippo  —  once  betrothed  to  thee  —  is  here; 
And  he  has  seen  thee,  and  thou  him. 

CEC.  What  meanst  thou  ? 

LEON.  Alonzo's  friend  Valerio,  that  is  he ; 
Ah,  he,  methinks,  it  were  not  hard  to  love. 

CEC.  Prove  this ;  I  give  thee  all  my  share  in  him. 

Enter  BERTO. 

BERTO.  Ladies,  the  Signer  comes ;   with  him  the  duke. 

CEC.  Leave  me  not,  sister ;  Berto,  stay  thou,  too. 
My  one  poor  heart,  unpropped,  will  not  have  pulse 
To  feed  my  willing  tongue  with  all  its  needs. 

Enter  BOBERTO  and  the  Duke. 
DUKE.  Lady  Cecilia,  the  rich  happiness,  ^ 


112  LIKE    UNTO    LIKE.  [ACT  III 

Wherewith  your  honored  father  would  enrobe  me, 

I  dare  not  vest  me  with,  nor  call  my  own, 

Till  you  have  stamped  upon  its  folds  your  signet. 

CEC.  More  even  than  my  father,  this  great  contract 
Concerns,  my  lord,  you  and  myself.     The  bond, 
You  honor  me  by  wishing  me  to  sign, 
Is  holy  ;  but  'tis  from  the  heart  that  comes 
Its  holiness.     Not  consecrated  thus, 
It  is  a  malediction  on  the  life. 
You  take  me  for  myself;  but  if  myself 
I  give  without  my  affections,  I  then  give 
Not  even  a  portion  of  me,  but  a  thing 
Denied  and  worthless. 

ROB.  "What  strange  words  are  these  ? 

They  smack  of  disobedience. 

CEC.  Oh !  my  father, 

Break  not  the  gentle  cords  that  hitherto 
Have  linked  me  to  thee,  and  have  kept  me  ever 
As  pendant  on  thy  wish  as  on  the  oak 
The  shadow  is  that  softly  lies  beneath  it. 
I  will  forego  my  woman's  destiny, 
And  minister  but  to  thee,  so  thou'll  not  bid  me 
Attaint  my  virgin  purity  and  honor, 
Giving  a  husband's  sacred  rights  to  one 
Who  is  a  stranger  to  my  heart. 

BOB.  My  daughter, 

This  new  self-confidence  beseems  thee  not ; 
And  thy  Distrust  of  me  is  a  rank  weed, 


SCENE  I.]  LIKE   UNTO   LIKE.  113 

Choking  with  sudden  growth  thy  hetter  parts. 
When  was  my  rule  untoward  to  thy  good  ? 
My  judgment  now  is  what  it  ever  was, 
The  guardian  of  thy  simpleness. 

DUKE.  Signer, 

Modesty  is  the  casket  that  inlocks 
A  maiden's  virtues.     This  sweet  coyness  whets 
My  love  with  warranty  of  excellence, 
Adding  a  quenchless  lustre  «to  your  gift. 
Dear  lady,  you  so  perfectly  have  taught  me 
Love's  task,  the  pupil  now  feels  strong  to  teach 
His  teacher.     I  will  trust  thy  heart  to  learn, 
And  through  this  rosy  shyness  do  espy 
Its  aptitude. 

CEC.  You  read  me  wrong,  my  lord. 

As  to  the  lesson  which  you  prize  so  much, 
If  I  have  taught  it  you,  the  teaching  was 
Without  my  will  or  knowledge.     Love's  a  lesson 
Which  only  then  is  well  taught  when  'tis  self-taught. 
When  comes  my  time  to  learn,  I'll  teach  myself. 

DUKE.  Begin  then  now  :  thy  time  is  come  to-day. 
For  hy  thy  father's  will  thou'rt  mine.     This  hand — 

CEC.  [  Who,  as  he  would  seize  her  hand,  draws  it  back.] 
If  so  my  father  shall  enjoin,  this  hand 
I'll  give  thee — but,  first  severed  from  my  wrist; 
That  so,  no  longer  warmed  hy  my  heart's  currents, 
No  part  of  me,  bloodless  and  dead,  I  care  not 
Whether  it  be  given  to  thee,  or  thrown  to  the  dogs. 


114  LIKE   UNTO    LIKE.  [ACT  III. 

DUKE.  Know  you  me,  madam  ?     I  am  Duke  Fernando. 

CEC.  And  I,  sir,  am  myself.     Within  a  circle, 
Drawn  round  me  by  my  womanhood,  I  stand ; 
And  who,  with  forceful  grasp  would  drag  me  thence, 
He  is  an  ingrate  to  his  mother's  breast, 
Disfranchised  of  a  sister's  duty,  and, 
Whatever  name  he  bear,  false  to  true  manhood, 
To  whose  right  sense  naught  is  more  precious  —  nay, 
Not  morning  light  or  nurturing  brt>ad —  than  is 
A  maiden's  purity.  [Exit  CECiLlAjbttmced  by  LEOXORA. 

DUKE.  Here  in  your  presence,  sir,  am  I  insulted 
With  a  spoilt  girl's  unchecked  capriciousness. 

ROB.  My  lord,  my  lord,  to-morrow  this  will  pass 

DUKE.  To-morrow,  to-morrow ; —  I'll  no  to-morrows. 
Nay,  sir,  you  are  not  master  of  your  own.  [Exit.. 

ROB.  My  lord,  my  lord — [follows  the  Duke  out.] 

BERTO  alone. 

There's  a  woman  for  you.  If  Florence  had  a  score  such,  it 
were  too  good  for  me  to  snore  in.  I  should  migrate  to  Rome. 
To  think,  that  I  live  under  the  same  roof  with  such  a  perfec- 
tion. Why,  she  would  sweeten  a  whole  province ;  she  would 
convert  a  monastery  to  innocence.  Her  one  fault  was,  that 
she  was  all  angel.  But  she  isn't ;  so  she's  faultless.  A  wo- 
man that  has  not  in  her  a  spice  of  the  devil,  is  not  worth  that. 
[Snapping  Ms  fingers.] 

Re-enter  ROBERTO. 

ROB.  Berto,  Berto,  this  is  a  sad  business. 

BERTO.  So  sad,  it  almost  makes  me  laugh. 


SCENE  LJ  LIKE  UNTO  LIKE.  115 

ROB.  But  the  duke  will  not  be  pacified.  In  the  election 
he'll  turn  against  me. 

BERTO.  No  matter  which  way  he  turns,  signor ;  he'll  be 
like  the  pig  in  his  wallow ;  nothing  will  turn  with  him  but  his 
own  skin. 

ROB.  He  has  great  influence,  Berto ;  he  can  carry  with  him 
hundreds  of  votes. 

BERTO.  Not  five.  That  grinning  abbe  would  make  you 
believe,  that  a  wave  of  the  duke's  hand  will  knock  a  man 
down  quicker  than  my  fist.  If  I  could  but  make  trial  on  his 
reverend  skull. 

Enter  ERNESTO. 

ROB.  Ha !  my  dear  friend,  how  overjoyed  I  am 
To  greet  you.     Give  me  counsel.     Wilt  thou  think  it — 
Cecilia,  who  did  never  yet  rebel, 
Is  of  a  sudden  mutinous ;  refusing 
To  marry  Duke  Fernando,  and  in's  face 
Throwing  such  words,  so  hot  with  angry  scorn, 
That  I  stood  mazed,  as  if  I'd  heard  a  lamb 
Howl  like  a  wolf. 

ERN.  Cecilia — did  she  this? 

ROB.  She  who  was  ever  so  serene,  her  heart, 
Methought,  held  no  blood  red  enough  for  anger, 
Startled  the  duke,  us  all,  with  speech  defiant. 

ERN.  The  pure  never  revolt  but  'gainst  what's  foul : 
The  anger  of  the  good  is  truth  in  arms. 
Thy  meek  child's  wrath  deplumes  thy  soaring  thoughts. 
Open  thy  heart  to  let  her  wisdom  in. 


116  LIKE    ONTO   LIKE.  [AcT  LU. 

My  friend,  the  guiltless  young  are  heavenly  teachers ; 
And  blest  is  he,  whose  years  leave  him  so  humble 
And  clean,  he  still  can  learn  from  their  deep  schooling. 
Let  us  go  in  and  talk  this  trouble  through.  [Exeunt. 

BERTO  alone. 

From  a  man  with  his  heart  in  the  right  place,  good  counsel 
comes  as  easily  as  butter  from  thick  cream.  These  two  are 
bent  now  on  getting  Cecilia  married.  She  is  too  good  to  bo 
married,  men  are  such  knaves ;  but  then,  she  is  too  good  not  to 
be  married,  for  thereby  her  husband's  son  will  be  less  of  a 
knave  than  his  father.  Marriage  is  the  way  of  this  wicked 
man-peopled  world.  I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  Berto  a  married 
Berto  would  have  been.  I  laugh  to  think  how  I  should  have 
plagued  my  wife ;  but  I  laugh  louder  to  think,  what  a  plagu- 
ing I  have  missed.  Well,  let  who  will  get  married ;  all  com- 
fort shall  not  be  banished  from  the  world,  for  I'll  keep  single. 

\Exit. 

SCENE  LT. 
ALONZO'S  Studio. 

ALONZO  alone,  seated  gazing  at  CECILIA'S  portrait ;  then 

starting  up. 

Shame  on  my  fevered  heart ;  't  is  almost  jealous. 
A  blessing  to  my  life  she  still  may  be, 
If  I  keep  worthy.     Out,  base  jealousy  : 
There's  no  glass  here  to  catch  thy  demon  glare. 
Oh  !  how  the  sordid  meddling  self  will  thrust 
An  opake  pettiness  betwixt  our  manhood 


SCENE  II.]  LIKE  UNTO  LIKE.  117 

And  its  broad  ends  impersonal,  keeping  us 

In  dead  eclipse  toward  beauty's  cloudless  sun. 

But  what  is  beauty,  if  not  in  the  life  ? 

Can  I,  who  have  made  vows  to  beauty,  keep  them 

By  cunning  practices  of  eye  and  hand  ? 

The  eye  but  guides,  the  hand  but  holds,  the  brush : 

It  is  the  soul  that  paints  :  and  never  can 

The  base  in  soul  reach  high  in  spotless  Art. 

To  know  great  beauty,  we  must  live  it,  be  it. 

[Seats  himself  again  before  the  portrait.] 
This  face  divine  has  baffled  me,  because 
I've  been  too  selfish,  too  unlike  the  soul 
That  makes  its  splendor. 

[Enter  FILIPPO  behind  him,  unperceived.] 

Now,  I'll  paint  it,  now 

That  my  large  self  hath  triumphed  o'er  the  small. 
I'll  love  her  as  another's  with  a  love 
More  holy  still.     But  this  Fernando  —  were  she 
Filippo's,  then  the  two  I'd  love  as  one. 

[FlLlPPO  advances  and  touches  him  on  the  shoulder 
He  starts  up. 

FIL.  Ay,  start  up,  like  the  guilty  thing  thou  art. 

ALON  My  dear  Filippo ; — 

FiL.  Call  me  friend  and  force  me 

Peer  in  thy  heart  from  'hind  thy  back,  to  learn — 
What  makes  me,  too,  the  happiest  of  men  — 
Thy  secret  noble  love  for  sweet  Cecilia. 
But  now,  I  was  a  rag  of  wretchedness. 


118  LIKE   UNTO   LIKE.  [ACT  IU. 

To  thee  I'd  come  for  counsel;  for  Ernesto — 
Whose  single  thought  was,  foiling  of  the^duke — 
Thinking  Cecilia's  heart  and  mine  mere  wax, 
For  his  warm  will  to  melt  into  one  lump, 
Had  made  me  swear  to  be  her  suitor,  me 
Whose  wax  was  melting  by  another  fire. 
Thou  lov'st  Cecilia  —  I  love  Leonora  : 
Fernando,  I've  just  learned,  has  been  dismissed. 

ALON.  Filippo,  dear  Filippo,  can  I  dare 
To  grasp  at  so  much  blessedness,  an  orphan  — 
Less  than  an  orphan  —  a  lone  foundling— 

FIL.  Ha ! 

Signor  Bordoni,  was  he  not  thy  father  ? 

ALON.  He  called  me  son,  and  made  me  be  as  son. 
I  loved  him  like  a  father;  but  he  knew 
No  more  than  I  myself  who  were  my  parents. 
On  a  cold  day,  in  Mantua's  streets  he  found  me, 
A  boy  of  twelve  years  old. 

FIL.  How  cam'st  thou  there  ? 

ALON.  As  briefly  as  I  can  I'll  tell  thee  all 
A  child's  green  memory  can  bring  so  far. 
One  summer  evening,  playing  at  the  door, 
I  was  upsnatched,  and,  with  my  face  quick  muffled, 
Thrown  in  a  boat  upon  a  woman's  lap, 
Who  idly  strove  to  hush  my  frantic  cries. 
Terror  kept  me  awake,  it  seemed  for  hours. 
At  last,  soft  Sleep  —  vexed  childhood's  pillowing  mother — 
Hugged  me  to  her  kind  breast  and  stilled  my  sobs. 


SCENE  II.J  LIKE   UNTO   LIKE.  119 

I  woke  within  a  hut,  lying  on  straw. 

Oh !  the  sick  anguish  of  that  frightful  morning. 

I  had  been  stolen  by  gypsies,  vagrant  singers. 

How  life  held  out  against  the  hourly  siege 

Of  the  long  battering  grief,  I  can  not  tell. 

That  time's  hot  agony  still  wrings  my  heart. 

From  town  to  town  we  journeyed,  sleeping  out, 

Or  in  lone  barns.     Oh  !  how  I  longed  to  rush 

Into  the  gaping  crowds  and  tell  my  story. 

But  ever  on  me  were  the  cruel  eyes 

Of  the  dark  husband.     By  degrees  life's  strength, 

Fast  swelling,  sloughed  my  pinching  sorrow  off. 

And  then,  the  woman  loved  me ;  and  at  last 

I  loved  her  too.  '  She  had  a  mother's  heart, 

And  laid  me  in  it.     Years  rolled  on.     We  wandered 

To  distant  lands.     One.day  Teresa  sickened; 

From  day  to  day  was  worse ;  aud  as  she  sank, 

Closer  and  closer  pressed  me  to  her  side : 

Poured  aching  tears  upon  my  head ;  and  as 

I  knelt,  and  mixed  my  prayers  with  hers,  grew  calm, 

And  died  then  on  my  breast.     I'd  lost  my  mother: 

The  only  one  I  ever  knew.     Three  days 

Thereafter,  in  the  night,  I  left  the  man, 

And  fled  toward  Italy  ;  and  there,  weeping 

In  Mantua's  streets,  my  second  father  found  me. 

FIL.  Alonzo,  Alonzo,  wast  thou  not  from  home, 
On  a  far  journey  with  thy  father  ? 

ALON.  Ay — 


120  LIKE    UNTO    LIKE.  [ACT  III. 

I  think  it  was — I  think  it  was : — 

FIL.  And  thou 

Wast  five  years  old  ? 

ALON.  About,  about :  why  ask'st  thou  ? 

FIL.  Wast  itot  in  Venice  thou  wast  stolen  ] 

ALON.  Venice  — 

Venice — Filippo,  hast  thou  any  clue? 

FIL.  I  have,  I  have :  but  keep  thou  calm. — Alonzo, 

The  night  I  came  to  Florence,  as  I  rode 

By  Fiesole,  half-dreaming  on  my  horse, 

There  seemed  to  float  before  my  path  a  wreath 

Of  faces,  smiling  and  swaying  with  joy. 

And  as  I  shook  myself  awake,  they  vanished  — 

To  come  again ;  and  so  they  came  and  vanished, 

Until  I  reached  the  gate.     And  now  I  read 

This  happy  vision.     Oh  !  if  through  my  coming 

Thou  shalt  embrace  thy  father,  and  he  thee, 

Rather  than  not  have  come,  I  would  forego 

Embracing  Leonora.    Now  to  Roberto's.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  LTL 

A  Room  in  ROBERTO'S  House. 
Enter  ROBERTO  and  ERNESTO. 

ROB.  Till  now,  I  had  not  prized  thy  thoughtful  friendship 
At  its  great  value,  dear  Ernesto.     Would, 
That  of  the  balm  thou'st  poured  on  my  fresh  wounds, 
Some  drops  I  could  distil  for  thy  long  pain. 


SCENE  HI.J  LIKE  UNTO  LIKE.  121 

ERN.  Oh  !  had  I  seen  my  boy  cold  in  his  shroud, 
Then  could  my  thoughts  have  followed  him  to  Heaven ; 
And  there  my  agony  at  last  had  rested. 
But  now  —  Oh!  monstrous  state  —  my  anguish  lives 
Because  he  lives  ;  and  dire  imaginations 
My  sorrow  feed  with  ghastly  food,  and  keep  it 
Bleeding  as  fresh  as  on  the  day  I  lost  him. 
There's  not  a  tyranny  that  brutish  man 
Upon  his  brother  wreaks,  but  T  have  wept 
As  his  sad  portion.     Now,  a  slave  I  see  him, 
Spit  on  by  Moslem  master ;  now,  a  menial ; 
And  now,  a  task- worn  serf  in  frozen  Moscow; 
Now,  buffeted  by  storms  and  despot  skippers ; 
Now,  naked,  wrecked  upon  a  savage  shore ; 
Now,  racked  in  cell  of  hellish  inquisition. 
In  vain  I  cry — he's  dead,  he  rests  in  peace  — 
My  heart  will  not  believe  it ;  but  for  ever 
Out  from  the  night  of  cold  uncertainty 
His  image  glares,  a  living,  weeping  spectre. 
Pardon  me,  friend ;  grief  can  not  but  be  selfish. 
'Tis  twenty  years  to-day  since  mine  first  seized 
My  wifeless  heart,  and  left  me  less  than  childless. 
No  more,  no  more :  I'll  drive  my  sorrow  out 
With  thoughts  of  others'  joy.     Here  come  your  daughters. 

ROB.  Be  you  embassador  for  this  new  treaty. 
Enter  CECILIA  and  LEONORA. 

ERN.  My  dear  Cecilia,  I  am  here  as  spokesman 
For  my  young  friend  Filippo - 


122  LIKE    UNTO    LIKE.  [Act  III. 

CEC.  Pardon  me, 

Signer  Ernesto ;  art  thou  sure  thy  words 
Know  how  to  speak  Filippo's  mind  to  th'  full  ? 

ERN.  Thy  doubt  himself  shall  answer :  here  he  is. 

Enter  FiLiPPO  and  ALONZO. 
Filippo,  with  my  tongue  I  was  about 
To  throw  you  at  Cecilia's  feet. 

FIL.  Signor, 

I'm  proud  you  think  me  worthy  such  a  place. 
First  let  me  say  what  I  have  come  to  say. 
Signor  Ernesto,  'tis  now  twenty  years 
Since1  you  in  Venice  lost  your  child. 

ERN.  Ay  —  ay:  — 

ALON.  Signor  Ernesto ! 

ERN.  Oh !  on  every  day 

Of  all  those  years,  my  boy  has  died  to  me. 

FIL.  I  have  a  friend,  worthy  to  be  thy  son, 
Who,  twenty  years  ago,  was  stolen  by  gypsies 
In  Venice,  on  a  summer  evening. 

ERN.  Ha ! 

Where — where?  —  His  name  —  his  name. 

FIL.  So  deep  his  name 

Is  buried  "neath  the  doubling  folds  of  years, 
His  memory,  unassisted,  can  not  reach  it. 

ERN.  Oh  !  heaven — what  yearnings  seize  my  heart. 

ALON.  The  name  — 

The  name — 

ERN.  Signor  Alonzo  : Ubaldo. 


SCENE  III.]  LIKE   UNTO   LIKE.  123 

ALON.  Father,  father — I  am  thy  Baldino. 
ERN.  0  God  !    'twas  so  I  called  him.     Round  his  neck  — 
ALON.  A  chain ;  here  'tis.  [Snatches  the  chain  from  his  neck 
ERN.  My  boy,  my  boy — my  lost  one  : 

Is't  so  ?  I  do  not  sleep  —  thy  mother's  brow  — 

On  thy  left  arm  thou  hadst  a  mother's  mark  — 
ALON.  "Tis  here  —  a  heart.  [  "Unbaring  his  arm.] 
ERN.  Oh  !  day  of  joy.     Filippo, 

To  thee  we  owe  this  unmatched  happiness. 
FlL.  You  owe  it  to  a  virtue  there  is  in  me ; 

Namely,  that  I,  unworthy  in  myself, 

Have  the  good  gift  to  value  worth  in  others. 

This  drew  me  to  Alonzo;  and  my  life's 

Most  fruitful  work  has  been  my  love  for  him.        .      » 

Nay,  but  I  take  what  not  belongs  to  me ; 

For  'tis  a  love — which  I  by  chance  discovered — 

Deeper  than  mine  for  him,  that  has  unlocked 

This  mortal  treasury  of  joy.     This  love  'twas 

That  made  him,  in  despair,  relate  his  story. 

The  puissant  one  who,  all  unconsciously, 

Winning  a  heart  as  noble  as  her  own, 

Has  loosed  this  long-pent  flood  of  happiness — 

Making  one  love  reveal  another — and  thus, 

Is  the  dear  causer  of  a  general  bliss ; 

This  ministering  mistress  of  Love's  purest  fonts, 

Is,  the  Lady  Cecilia. 

ALON.  My  bold  secret 

Which  one  hour  since,  I  had  locked  within  my  breast, 


124  LIKE    UNTO    LIKE.  [ACT  III. 

As  the  sweet  nourishment  of  solitude, 
My  friend  hath  truly  told,  Lady  Cecilia ; 
Speaking  for  me  the  venturous  words,  which  I, 
Now  new-baptized  in  joy,  myself  had  spoken. 

CEG.  Signer  Alonzo,  one  hour  since,  these  words 
Had  been  as  grateful  to  my  ear  as  now ; 
And  if  this  sudden  sunshine  makes  them  flow, 
Its  rays  are  hardly  to  your  father's  heart 
More  gladsome  than  to  mine. 

ERN.  Peerless  Cecilia ! 

CEC.  Dear  father,  wilt  thou  give  thy  daughter  to 
Thy  old  friend's  son  ? 

ROB.  Had  I  a  hundred  daughters, 

I'd  give  them  all  to  dear  Ernesto's  sons. 

CEC.  Alonzo,  thou  hast  not  thy  father's  leave. 

ALON.  Oh  !  blessed  day,  that  brings  me  such  a  duty, 
Lapping  me  in  a  sweet  dependence.     Father 

ERN.  If  aught  could  make  thee  dearer  to  my  soul, 
It  were  to  have  thee  mated  thus. 

ALON.  Filippo, 

My  bliss  is  incomplete,  unyoked  to  thine. 
Lady  Leonora,  thou  canst  complete  it.     Let 
My  tongue  woo  for  my  friend,  as  his  for  me. 
He  loves  thee  ;  and  of  all  the  men  I've  known 
He  is  the  easiest  to  love. 

FIL.  Have  pity  on  me, 

Lady.     From  far-off  Padua  I  have  come, 
Battling  my  way  'gainst  stout  adversities. 


SCEXE  III.]  LIKE   UNTO   LIKE.  125 

Once  I  'scaped  drowning  by  the  maddened  Po : 
Twice  was  I  hand  to  hand  with  wolf-eyed  bandits. 
All  this,  to  fetch  a  wife  from  lettered  Florence. 
Let  me  not  thence  depart  with  empty  arms. 

LEON.  Signor  Filippo,  there's  my  hand.     And  if 
To-morrow  I  like  you  and  you  like  me 
As  well  as  now — we'll  talk  this  matter  over. 

FIL.  Without  listeners. 

ALON.  So  gilded  is  this  hour 

By  heaven's  smile,  our  spirits  are  aglow 
With  strangest  bliss.     Through  paths,  wayward  and  ignorant 
Have  we  been  driven  blindfold  on  our  good 
By  highest  Will ;  whose  open  secret  guidance 
Above  our  daily  walk  doth  ceaseless  flash 
Benignant  light,  which  we  see  not ;  and  shall 
Then  only  see,  when  our  unwholesome  wills, — 
By  thought  and  knowledge  purged — shall  hourly  be 
To  the  orbit  of  the  will  divine  upswung ; 
A  consummation  whereof  joys  like  this 
Are  golden  tokens  and  sure  prophecies. 


THE    END. 


V* 


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